Into The Light
by LittleSpiderWeaver
Summary: The Two Faced Ring has to be destroyed, but Odale has other things on her mind. People in cloaks are showing up all over the Castle, murdered girls are found in the moat, and however she looks at it she seems to be standing in the middle of it.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: What Has Been...

* * *

Odale dropped her pencil on the desk. It was enough, she was done with her homework. Everything had been boring that day. The weather was gray, the food tasted like ash in her mouth, and the morning had been torture.

She rose to her feet. It was late afternoon, all her lessons were done and now she'd even done her homework. There was nothing else to do, since she didn't want to be in the Pyramid Library the entire evening.

Quickly, she unwrapped the cloth that had been wrapped around her hand. It had been several weeks since she cut it open, but it hadn't healed properly and she knew why. It was a Darke wound.

As a substitute for the cloth, she put on a pair of gloves. They were made of soft, black leather and since it was still cold outside no one batted an eye at them… but Odale knew that it wouldn't be long until the snow and ice would thaw and her gloves would look misplaced. Only a month or two.

Odale went through the hall, into the living room and towards the door. She knew that Marcia prefered it when she told her than she went away, but both of them knew that Marcia couldn't stop Odale. Odale put a hand on the door and...

The sound of Marcia's shoes were heard, and Odale cursed. She spun around, held her hands behind her back. "Hello, Marcia," she said.

"And where are you going?" Marcia asked her.

"Just out for a little air," Odale answered.

"Air?" Marcia sat down in an armchair, the one closest to Odale. "Last time you went out for 'air' you came home far too late."

"I know," Odale said, as innocently as she could manage. "But Z-"

"Odale, you're almost an adult," Marcia replied sternly. "You're responsible for yourself-"

"I know, I know," Odale sighed impatiently. "I've heard the whole speech, thank you. Can I go now?"

"No," Marcia said.

"What?" Odale was in shock. "But… why?"

"Because I said so," Marcia replied. "Odale, there is so much you can do inside. I don't want you out there right now."

"But I can manage myself!" Odale exclaimed. "As you said… I'm almost an adult! I can-"

"This isn't a discussion, Odale," Marcia said. "Your mother, by the way, has asked me not to let you out by yourself."

Her mother had followed her to the door last week, Odale remembered, but she hadn't thought that it had anything to do with her safety. She snorted, opened the door. "I've done far more dangerous things than going outside, Marcia," she said. She closed the door behind her.

She understood that Marcia only cared about her safety, and so on, still she didn't want to hear any of it. It made her feel a little guilty, but she quickly pushed the thoughts of Marcia away. Instead, she spiralled down the stairs down to the Great Hall. Odale didn't bother to look at the message it had for her, she'd seen it far too many times for it to be interesting anymore.

It was darke outside. The Wizard Tower's courtyard and the Great Arch were all incredibly quiet, but once she was outside the entire street was buzzing with Darke Domaine had been hard on the Castle, but the Castle did as it always did. It was slowly rebuilding itself.

Odale, ignoring what she called the 'normal people' quickly retreated into an alleyway. The alleyway didn't look like much, but Odale knew where to go. She went up to a worn door, knocked rapidly three or four times and the door opened. Odale slipped inside.

It was a place where the more suspicious-looking people hid away, and Odale had found it just some weeks ago. She didn't understand how a place with so much... not-so-clean business could just go on, right under Marcia's and the Wizard Tower's noses. Odale knew that she should have reported it to Marcia, who'd have the place 'cleaned', but she didn't feel up to it. Instead, she slipped in there every now and then.

There was something that Odale found very comforting with listening to the people talk. Of course, if someone would say something that could be potentially dangerous she would report it at once. It would ruin all the fun of course, there was something interesting with being able to sit in a room where no one paid attention to her... no one tried to talk to her... even though her robes had turned a few heads at first.

Odale sat down at a table, pulled her feet up underneath her. A boy her own age came to her with a glass of water, he always did, and then he leaned in and told her that she should buy something. Or his boss would get angry. He always did said so, and the boss never became angry.

She looked around. There were new people there. Usually, all the people who were there were always there. There were rarely any new faces, and if there were one would know that it would be the same type of people. But that night, there was some new people and Odale didn't like them at once. They all wore red cloaks, lined with fur (as if it was some sort of uniform), and almost all of them spoke a foreign language. Or, a several languages and Odale didn't know which.

Odale turned her head to find the boy again. She had to ask him who they were. Odale looked for him in the half-crowded room, but he was easy to find. He was wearing a sunflower yellow shirt, while everyone else in there seemed to prefer colors which were darker. Odale waved at him, and he came up to her. She hadn't realized until then that she recognized him, but she didn't know from where. "Hi," she said. "About food... do you have something that's with chocolate?"

"Well, we have cake-"

"Great," Odale replied. "Would you bring me some?"

"That would be-"

"Here," Odale put some coins from her belt in his hand. He looked surprised, but it seemed to be enough. Odale watched him walk away, and then come back with a plate in his hand.

"Thank you," Odale said when he placed the plate infront of her. "And..."

Odale grabbed him by his arm. "Who are those red-cloaks over there?"

The boy shrugged. "Some foreigners," he said. "They're just passing through the Castle. They were going somewhere else."

Odale took a bite out of the chocolate cake. "Thank you," she said. "What's your name?"

"Clark," the boy replied quickly. He walked away.

* * *

She didn't want to stay in the meet-up any longer, so when she had finished the chocolate cake she left. The people, mainly men, in their red cloaks made her uncomfortable. They made her thing of the Young Army... only that they were adults. Even though she had thought that she'd seen some kids in her own age among them, also in red cloaks.

Odale walked back to the Wizard Tower. There was no point in being outside more than she had to. She walked the same way she had when she went there, and then she was home. Both Septimus and Marcia was in the living room when she came back. "Hello again," Marcia said coldly when Odale had just come inside the door. "Did you have a nice walk?"

Odale could tell that Marcia knew that Odale hadn't went out just for the walk... and it didn't bother her. "It was nice, thank you," Odale said just as coldly as Marcia had.

She sat down in the sofa, beside Septimus. "There's tea if you want it," Marcia said. "You only need to get a cup in the-"

"Not right now," Odale replied. "Thanks."

It was deadly quiet and Odale almost wished that she'd stayed outside. Odale kicked of her boots and pulled her legs up on the sofa. "What are you reading, Sep?" Odale asked.

"Nothing special," Septimus answered. "I'm just reading ahead."

"Oh," Odale said. She looked into the fire.

* * *

Rodrian did much for her these days. Polished her shoes, among many things.

She only had two pairs. One pair of boots, made of skin and fur, and another pair. Those were her 'nice' shoes, even though they didn't keep the cold out especially well, but her feet were swollen and too big for her boots. The nicer shoes, however, did fit and now she had to force her feet into them.

Runa rose to her feet. She wanted out, the house wasn't the same to her anymore. It had never been her home, but the more she stayed there the smaller and more cramped it seemed to become...

Not that she had had a home in a very long time. Her home had been torn from underneath her feet, she had fallen and never got back up again.

It wasn't Rodrian's fault. He hadn't been there, she didn't even know he he'd been a rebel then. Besides, she'd never seen or heard of him doing anything like what had happened to her... but a rebel was a rebel, no matter how he acted. He still made her uncomfortable. She also didn't want her child to grow up to become a rebel. Runa wanted her child to have a _real _home.

* * *

Septimus had went to bed already, and when he had went away everything had grown quiet. Odale shifted her legs, Marcia was watching her. As if she wanted to say anything. "Odale," Marcia said suddenly. Odale jumped. "You have to be careful. It's very important, especially now. Do you hear me?"

"Why is it important right now?" Odale snapped. "The Two Faced Ring is safe... what else is there?"

"Just do me that one favor," Marcia replied. Odale could tell that Marcia knew more than what she said, but she didn't ask anything.

"Fine," she just said. "I will."

She rose up. "Where are you going?" Marcia asked quickly. Odale sighed.

"I'm going to bed, Marcia," she said. "Can I do that?"

"Of course," Marcia tried to smile, but to Odale it came out as awkward. "Good night."

Odale hurried out of the room. She didn't want to stay there anymore. When she was inside of the room, she closed it and listened for a while to make sure that no one was outside. Odale then went up beside her bed, laid down on the floor and reached in under it. She could feel the leathery surface of the book she wanted, and grabbed it.

Once again she listened so that no one was outside, then she opened it. Odale quickly flickered to the page she wanted to see; Skinchanging. It had taken her about two weeks in the Pyramid Library to find it... and at the cost of a failed test. But Odale didn't mind. She had to know.

Odale reached in under her bed again to find a tiny mirror. She sat down on her bed, with the mirror leant against the wall and the book in her lap. Skinchanging, she had found out, wasn't a Spell exactly, but instead a technique. It was also, she had found out, very hard to master. For a few weeks she had been practicing alone in her bedroom. Especially at night, when no one would bother her.

She looked herself in the mirror, then closed her eyes. Her biggest issue, she had found out, was that she didn't know what she wanted to be. The first time she had attempted to look like a snake, but nothing had happened. Another time a fly, another a bird... Odale still didn't know. She tried something knew every time, the book had said that sometime people just had to find the right animal... she just hadn't found her own yet.

Then, she had an idea. Odale opened her eyes. She thought of when she'd been turned into a wolf a few years ago... she knew what she'd looked like, she knew how it felt to be turned into one... Odale looked at her own picture in the mirror, brushed her hair aside so that she could see her ear.

Carefully, she visualized her ear. She then attempted to see it change into a big, pointy wolf's ear... Something stung and she put her hand up to her ear. She felt fur, soft as velvet underneath her palm, opened her eyes and laughed.

Somebody knocked on her door. Odale, quickly as lightning, covered her ear and pushed the book and mirror underneath a blanket. "Odale?" Marcia said. "It's late, you should be asleep."

Marcia opened the door and came in. Odale hid a smile. "I know," she said. "I'm sorry, I just-"

"What were you laughing at?" Marcia asked.

"I just thought of something funny," Odale smiled. "Goodnight, Marcia."

"You too," Marcia answered. She walked out again and Odale could take a breath of relief. Her ear would stay her secret.


	2. Chapter 2

**(A/N Warning for violence (murder) later on in the chapter.)**

* * *

Chapter 2: ...May Never Come back

* * *

In the morning Odale awoke by a sharp knock on her door. "Odale," Marcia said sternly. "It's been almost half an hour since I told you to get up."

Odale rolled over to her chest. "Can't I-"

"You were invited, Odale," Marcia snapped from the other side of the door. "Now get up."

Unwillingly, Odale rose to her feet. She washed herself and put a dress and her gloves on, then rushed into the living room. Marcia sat in an armchair. "Septimus is already down there," she said.

"I could've guessed," Odale said. "It's _his _brother's wedding... not my brother's wedding. I don't have one."

Marcia sighed. "Let's go," she replied. They went down the spiral stairs.

* * *

The ceremony was quick. Odale was very happy that it was, she didn't mean to linger anywhere. Or rather, she didn't want to, but the part was moving outside the Wizard Tower. She couldn't leave right then, that would be seen as rude.

Odale looked for Septimus. He was where the front of the ceremony was, she'd been all the way in the back. Quickly she approached him. "Hi," Septimus said.

"Hi," Odale replied.

"Have you seen Marcia?" Septimus asked her.

"Over there," Odale nodded in the general direction of where she'd seen Marcia last. She turned around.

Marcia was talking to somebody, a boy in her age. Odale watched them. She was almost certain that it was the boy from her secret place... he'd just exchanged the yellow tunic for a apprentice's. Odale frowned. Marcia did so too, she looked a bit knocked on Odale's shoulder. "Who is he?" he asked.

"I don't know," Odale answered. She turned around. "Everyone else is leaving. We should go, too."

Septimus nodded. They walked, Odale a bit slower than Septimus. She assumed that he would go join his family, but he waited patiently for her at the door. "You need to walk faster," he told her, half-angrily, half-jokingly.

"Maybe you should shorten your legs instead," she replied sourly.

* * *

"Runa," Rodrian said. His hair was ruffled, he had just came through the door. "We're going to the Castle."

"What?" Runa stopped.

"We're going to the Castle," Rodrian replied patiently. "They're sending rebels over there now, and I've been sent."

Runa didn't like it. The way to the Castle was long, perhaps not dangerous, but very long. Which, when she thought about it, was dangerous. When one was a rebel. "Is that really wise?" she asked him. "Right now?"

"It'll be safe, I promise," Rodrian answered, as if he'd read her thoughts. "Besides, Lorea could help with-"

"What about your sister?" Runa continued. "You know that after what you did-"

"What can she do, really?" Rodrian asked. "Kill me?"

Runa shook her head. "I suppose that she wouldn't..." Runa mumbled.

"Besides," Rodrian added quickly. "If you're looking for safety, the Castle is way safer than what the Snowplains are. No one is looking for rebels there."

He stroke her cheek. "And, wherever we are, I promise you that everything will be alright," he said. "I'll make sure it is."

* * *

The party was held at the Palace. Marcia had sternly told her not to dare to leave, and Odale didn't want to challenge Marcia's direct orders. At least not at that day. She leant back in her chair.

There was no one to talk to, not even Marcia as Marcia was sitting beside Milo. She seemed to be enjoying herself, Odale thought, somewhat annoyed. Septimus was nowhere to be found. "Hi," Odale spun around. Jenna stood there, with her hands on her sides.

"Hello," Odale replied. Jenna sat down beside her.

"Are you okay?" Jenna asked. "You look bored."

"I actually am a bit bored," Odale answered. "Not to be mean."

Jenna laughed. "That's okay," she said. "I'm a bit bored too."

"I suppose weddings are," Odale replied. She wondered if she could tell Jenna about her small project. Odale had already decided that she wouldn't tell Septimus about it, but Jenna was a different person. Besides, she was sure that Jenna would keep quiet.

Odale rose up. "Come," she said. "I want to show you something."

"What?" Jenna asked her.

"Just come," Odale replied. Odale walked hurriedly into the corridor, with Jenna on her heels. When they were out in the corridor, Odale both looked around and Listened for heartbeats... but she didn't see or hear anything. She took a deep breath and looked at Jenna.

Jenna had tilted her head to one side. "What is it that you have to show me?" she asked.

"Wait for it," Odale answered. She closed her eyes again. Her ears stung, just as they had the day before. Odale touched her ears, just to feel if they were alright. She looked at Jenna. Jenna stared.

"Your... ears..." she said. "They're dog ears?"

"Close enough!" Odale said excitedly. "They're wolf."

"Are you a Shapeshifter?" Jenna had had an amused expression, but it had been exchanged to a worried expression. Everyone knew what it meant to be a Shapeshifter. A Shapeshifter could change into many different forms, but at the end of their lifetimes they usually became unstable. So they decided one definite form and then stayed that way. Until they died.

"No," Odale said. "I... try to Skinchange. It's a bit different, but I thought it was nice."

"Oh," Odale saw that Jenna didn't understand.

"It's different," Odale replied, "Because, as a Skinchanger, you only have one form."

"Did Marcia teach you that?" Jenna asked.

Odale looked around. "No," she answered. "And you can't tell anyone... Please?"

"Sure," Jenna said. "But... why did you tell me?"

Odale grinned. "I thought you'd like it," Odale said. "But hush... okay?"

"Okay," Jenna said.

"I could always fix with your memory if you wouldn't," Odale joked. Jenna laughed.

* * *

Even though she and Jenna talked, and Odale liked talking to Jenna, she wanted to go home. Especially to her bed, and just sleep. She went to Marcia, who still sat by Milo. "Marcia," she said. "Can I go home now?"

"Is Septimus going with you?" Marcia turned around to look at her.

"No," Odale said. "Septimus is sleeping here."

"Then no," Marcia replied.

"I can make it over the Wizard Way myself!" Odale protested angrily. "I'm a much more skilled fighter than what Septimus is!"

Marcia sighed. She had been having a nice evening, until then. "That's not the point," she said.

"Then what is?" Odale asked her. "Why can't I go out alone anymore?"

"Because I don't want you to," Marcia answered. "Odale, end of discussion. You seemed to have a nice time with Jenna... why don't you just go back to her?"

Odale sighed with annoyance. Marcia attempted to put a hand on her shoulder, but Odale walked away. She didn't care what Marcia thought, Odale told herself. Odale would go now, she didn't want to wait any time at all.

* * *

She walked over the snow-covered street. In a way she liked it in the winter, when the snow always reflected a little light. Odale liked to always be able to see. Complete dark could be so horrible.

All of a sudden, she could hear footsteps behind of her. Odale turned around. She was grabbed from behind and someone pushed her down on the ground. The person pushed and hand over her mouth. "Stay quiet," he whispered. She shook her head and tried to kick him, but just when she did someone came running just past them. It was a girl, around Odale's age.

The girl was holding her hand to her side. Odale realized that she had had to be harmed in her side, but she couldn't see where. The boy had knocked her down behind a sign, and she couldn't really see well.

After the girl came two men. Odale recognized their cloaks, it was the same kind of cloak that she'd seen other people wear before. She shivered.

One of the men was wielding a spear, but with a curved edge. Odale stared. It didn't look good, and she knew that she had to help. Odale tried to wriggle out of the boys grip, but he was strong. Much stronger than she. Besides, he was holding her hands and she couldn't come up with a good spell without having to use her hands. "You can't help her!" the boy told her lowly.

A shrill scream was heard, and Odale turned her head again. The man with the long spear had cut the girl, again, and she was on her knees. From the shadows, a young man sprang out. The young man cast a spell, but the man with the spear flicked his spear easily, deflecting the spell.

The young man stopped in surprise, but his throat was slashed before he could do anything. Blood splattered on the snow and Odale felt completely cold. That could've been her.

The older man turned around, slashed the girls throat before she could scream again and then they just left. Odale laid on the ground in shock. It was a long time ago that she'd seen someone kill another without provocation or warning like that. The closest had been when her mother had killed Flarthy... but that was hardly unprovoked.

The boy rose up. Then he helped her up, too. She looked at him. It was Clark, the boy from the inn. Odale stared. "How did you know?" Odale asked.

"I just did," the boy looked down at her. He had a very serious expression on his face.

"Who were the murderers?" Odale asked. "Do you know who they are?"

"Rebels," Clark replied.

"What kind?" Odale felt very stupid. Clark seemed to already know way more than what she did.

"The kind from the Snowplains," he stated. "Don't you know? You're Snowplainian yourself."

"I gue..." Odale stopped herself. "How would you know?"

"You look the part," Clark replied. "Besides, your aunt told me."

"Marcia?" Odale asked.

"She _is _your aunt, isn't she?" Clark frowned.

Odale nodded. "She is..." Odale answered. "But how do you know her?"

Clark was silent. He looked at her, as if she was a rare animal, and tilted his head to one side. "Fine!" Odale snapped. "I'll go home then."

"No!" Clark said. "Please, let me follow you. It's better to be two."

"Why?"

"Because they might still be looking for people like us," Clark replied.

Odale shook her head. "You're crazy," she said. "What do you mean with 'us'?"

"Let's go," Clark gave her a shove. "Let's get you home."

She looked on the ground. The girl and the young man still laid on the ground. Of course, Odale thought. Dead people don't move. Odale looked at their faces.

They looked alike. She assumed that they were siblings, they were so alike. Both of them had black hair, which was slightly curly. The girl's hair had been shoulder-length and had spread underneath her face like a halo. Odale wanted to remember their faces.

The kill hadn't looked especially fair to her, nor had the fight. The girl hadn't been a Wizard, she could tell by the opened, glassy eyes. Besides, she had ran and screamed and the men had acted as if they had planned everything.

Odale shook her head. The young man had probably just tried to protect his sister. She wondered if Lorea would've done the same thing...

The boy carefully nudged at her shoulder. "Look, miss Odale," he said. "We should take you home."

She was about to ask how he knew her name, but then she remembered that she was Marcia's apprentice. Which made her known, but her aunt had apparently also told things about her to the boy. Odale didn't like that.

Clark finally grew tired of waiting for her, and grabbed her by the arm. "Come," he said. Odale followed. She stared at him. That boy could possibly have saved her.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

* * *

The morning light bothered her. It had somehow seeped through her curtains and was shining in her eyes. She hid her face under her covers, but the damage was already done. Odale was awake. She rubbed her eyes and put her feet on the floor.

At first she believed what had happened the day before was just a dream. She slowly walked into the kitchen, just to find Marcia there. Marcia had just made breakfast, apparently to her as well. Odale wasn't hungry, but she still ate. "About last night," Marcia said. "From what I've heard, you saw something..."

Odale blinked. "Yes," she said. "Or I think..."

"You saw that girl and her brother-"

"They killed them," Odale replied. "These people."

Marcia nodded. She looked down at Odale. "Are you okay?" Marcia asked her.

"I've seen worse," Odale answered.

"Of course," Marcia said. "It just that these rebels-"

"Are from the Eastern Snowplains?" Odale asked. "That's what the boy told me."

"What boy?" Marcia looked confused for a second.

"Clark?" Odale replied. "The two of you seem to get along very well."

"What?" Marcia asked.

"You've apparently told him about me," Odale answered. "Besides, I saw you talking to him yesterday, at the wedding. And-"

"You saw him at that place you sometimes go to?" Marcia filled in coldly. Odale raised her eyebrows. Marcia knew?

"How-"

"Clark told me," Marcia answered. "I told him to look after you-"

"You sent him to _stalk _me?" Odale exclaimed angrily. "Why would you do that?"

"Because-" Marcia begun, but Odale cut her off.

"Because you're afraid that I might get hurt?" Odale asked. "I don't think so. This is about the Darke Domaine again, isn't it?"

"No," Marcia snapped. "It's because I'm afraid that the rebels might want to _kill _you, Odale. These are the same people who kidnapped your sister... Besides, Clark wasn't just there to looked after you. He was there to watch the rebels."

"Why?"

"Because he knows their languages," Marcia said. "Odale... please. Don't be mad, I'm just trying to do what's best."

Odale rose to her feet. She was about to rush out, but Marcia snapped her fingers and the door shut. "Don't do anything stupid!" Marcia exclaimed. "Where are you going to go?"

"To my mother," Odale snapped at her. "She doesn't _stalk _me."

Marcia grabbed her arm. "Odale," Marcia said sternly. "You won't. And I don't stalk you-"

"Yeah, you just send someone else to do it," Odale rolled her eyes.

"Odale," Marcia said. "I'm just... I'm afraid that they might want to hurt you, because who you are-"

"Who am I, Marcia?" Odale snapped. "Who on earth am I? No one ever bothered to tell me!"

"You're your mother's daughter," Marcia told her. "You can't even fathom what they'd do if they found you. I'm not sure I can, either."

Odale stopped looking so tense, Marcia thought. Her shoulders dropped down slightly and she stared at Marcia. "Like what?" Odale asked. Marcia looked at her, with an eyebrow raised slightly. She, to Odale, looked as if she was thinking.

"I don't want to think about it," Marcia replied. Odale sat down again and Marcia smiled slightly.

"Who are they?" Odale asked. Marcia sat down infront of Odale. She tried to reach for Odale's hand, but Odale pulled back. Leaning back, she watched Marcia. Marcia sighed.

She neatly tucked a stray coil of hair behind her ear. "The rebels," Marcia said. "Are a group of people-"

"_No way!_"

Marcia ignored Odale. "-They want the nobility gone, that's the most I know about them. They've been around for a few hundred years, too. Right now, they're not very popular in the Snowplains. But they are seeking alliances, I've heard."

"Like the Castle?" Odale asked. Marcia nodded.

"But I would never let the Castle have an alliance with them," Marcia answered.

"Because they're bad people?" Odale crossed her arms. She couldn't tell if she was still angry at Marcia, or not. Marcia, after all, had said that she only wanted to protect her. That she only wanted to... Odale shook her head. It still wasn't okay.

"Yes," Marcia said. "That, and the Eastern Snowplainian military would crush the Castle. Or, if we'd be able to keep them out, they would starve us."

"They don't sound very nice, either," Odale remarked. Marcia smiled faintly.

"Believe me, they're better than the rebels," she said. Odale nodded. "Are you still angry?" Marcia continued quickly.

Odale pursed her lips. She still didn't know. Marcia seemed genuine... but it was no reason not to tell her that she might be in danger. And the word might, Odale thought, was very important too. Still, Odale didn't want to see Marcia hurt... Instead, she nodded. "Not very angry," she assured Marcia. "But a little."

"Will you stay home more?" Marcia asked her. Odale nodded again.

"But I won't _stop _going outside, Marcia," she answered. "But I promise you, if I see a rebel I will figh-"

"No," Marcia told her sternly. "You will run, if the rebel notices you. Otherwise, just go on as normal. Understood?"

She sighed. "Okay, Marcia," she said.

Marcia took Odale's hand. "I care for you, Odale," she said. "That's why I worry. You do understand that, don't you?"

Odale simply nodded. "I know," she replied. "I do... but next time, will you please tell me? I am sick and tired of you and mum trying to hide things from me that has all to do with me."

She rose up. "I'll see you later," she said.

* * *

Odale rushed upstairs, to the Pyramid Library. She sat down, behind a shelf so that Marcia, in case she came up, wouldn't see what she was doing. At least not at once. Carefully, she waved her hand. Not a mirror, but a reflection of her appeared infront of her. She watched herself, touched her face. Odale brushed her hair behind her ears and did her what she could.

Her ears turned quickly. They were furry and peaked, as a wolf's ear should be. She carefully ruffled them around, she liked that they had the same colour as her hair. Odale closed her eyes again. She imagined her face turn into a wolf's... she tried, she really did, but whatever she did, she couldn't manage.

Odale growled angrily. She waved her hand through the reflection, making it disappear. It quickly faded.

She should study, but she wasn't in the mood. She never was in the mood to study anymore. It felt, she thought, that it was meaningless. If she didn't know it, she had heard it. If she hadn't heard it, she didn't think it was useful. Odale buried her face in her arms that were laid on the table.

* * *

Lorea awoke late that day. Her mother seemed to have some fear for waking up, and never did. Her mother herself always woke up early, and when Lorea came into the kitchen her mother sat reading some book, and that day it was a Magyk book, which it not too rarely was. Cashmére was stirring a cup of tea which Lorea knew would be cold when her mother finally would drink it. Honey was laying at Cashmére's feet, the two of them had quickly bonded.

She sat down front of her mother. "Hello," she said. "Good morning."

Cashmére smiled. "Good morning, _amica_," she said and put her book down. "Do you want breakfast?"

"Do we have something to make it of?" Lorea asked. "Last time I looked, there was no food."

Her mother put a hand on her forehead. "I forgot to buy food yesterday!" she exclaimed. "I'm so sorry, I forgot-"

"That's okay," Lorea replied. "I was going to Marcia, anyways."

Cashmére was quiet. "I don't know if that's such a good idea," Cashmére replied. "You know what they're doing out there... besides, Marcia is a very busy woman. I'm not sure if she would... well, I'm sure she'd appreciate it, but she has to work."

"I'll just go outside real quick," Lorea said. "Besides, it's day time. These cockroaches wouldn't dare to do it during daytime."

"Cockroaches," Cashmére smiled. "Fitting name."

She looked as if she was hesitating. "Okay," she finally said. "Go. But don't take to long, please?"

"Of course," Lorea said.

She rose, and so did Cashmére. Cashmére gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and Lorea went into the hall. She put on her cloak and went out.

It was sunny outside, and the snow had not yet melted. Lorea was happy that it hadn't, she preferred the cold and she didn't like how slushy the ground became after the snow. In the Eastern Snowplains, there was almost always snow and when it melted everything was muddy. She always had to wash her clothes twice as often then. The floor too, as Honey's paws left dirty stains everywhere.

Lorea sighed. She'd have to take Honey out for a walk later. Not that she didn't want to. Lorea loved walking Honey, and the Castle was beautiful, in it's own way. The houses didn't look like anything in the Eastern Snowplains, most of them were of yellow stone with either straw or red roof tiles. Lorea looked around. She could see the market, just around the corner. She walked there.

Back home, she loved the markets and she did so in the Castle as well. When she was little, Rodrian had almost never let her out. Not until she was nine or ten he had let her, Lorea still remembered that day. He had taken her to a big market house, where they bought fabric for a new dress to her. She remembered the fabric as well. Green, like algae. She smiled, she missed Rodrian.

Lorea quickly brought the most that she would have at home; fish, flour, sugar, some vegetables... everything looked different from home. She sighed, and paid for everything. The man behind the stand packed everything in a bag of fabric, and Lorea turned around. "Don't tell me you've lost your dog again," someone said. Lorea blinked, she hadn't heard many in the Castle speak latin.

She recognized that voice. "Dextus!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"I'd like to ask you the same," Dextus replied. "What are _you _doing here?"

"You wouldn't believe me," Lorea said. "Oh, it's good to see you!"

Dextus gave her a hug. She smiled. "I have to go home now," she said. "Do you want to go with me?"

"It's too long to walk to the Snowplains, Lorea," Dextus joked. Lorea rolled her eyes.

"Come on," she said. "Do you want to, or not?"

"Of course I do," Dextus replied. "Where do you live?"

Lorea begun to walk. "Come," she said. "I'll show you."

* * *

"_Mater!_" Lorea called, when they had finally came to her mother's apartment. "I'm back."

"Lorea?" Cashmére said. "I thought you were going to Marcia?"

Lorea signed to Dextus to take of his cloak. "I skipped," she said. "And mum?"

"Yes?"

"Do you mind that I brought a friend?" Lorea asked.

She could hear her mother drop something in the kitchen. "A friend?" her mother said. "Of course not, why would I mind that?"

Cashmére stumbled into the hall. "Who is it?" she asked. "You haven't talked about any friends. Not about anyone here, at least..."

Lorea looked at Dextus. He looked, she thought, very surprised and Lorea didn't know why. "Lady Cashmére!" he gasped. "I didn't know... I..."

Cashmére stared at Dextus, too. She looked as surprised as Dextus did, if not more surprised. "Do the two of you know each other?" Lorea asked, looking from one to the other. Her mother shook her head.

"No," both said in chorus.

"I just assumed that your mother was dead," Dextus replied. "I thought _everyone _assumed that the Emperor's daughter was dead..."

Lorea frowned. "How do you know who my mother is?" she asked. Dextus clenched his jaw.

"Because he knows who you are," Cashmére said. "Because he's a noble himself."

It was Dextus's turn to frown. "How do _you _know who _I _am?" he asked her. Cashmére laughed at him.

"I know your eyes," she said. "You're a Ramasotti."

"You never told me that," Lorea said quietly. Dextus grabbed her hand.

"I know," he said. "And I'm sorry. But you didn't recognize me-"

"Should I?" Lorea asked him.

"I recognized you," Dextus said.

"From when?"

"We played when we were little," Dextus told her. "In the green garden."

"Oh," Lorea said.

"Then you must be Dextus's son!" Cashmére said. "Colum."

He nodded.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: The Encounter

* * *

A week, Runa thought, passed quickly. Rodrian helped her down from the boat. "We're staying with a friend of mine," Rodrian whispered lowly to her. "Because... well, I don't want to stay with the others... and I don't think that you do either."

Runa nodded. "Come on," he took her by the hand. "Let's go."

"Of course," Runa said. She took a tighter grip around her small bag.

"You, Rodrian!" someone shouted from behind of them. Rodrian quickly spun around.

Two of the Hassar's, Runa recognized their faces, came up to her and Rodrian. It was, Runa was almost sure of it, Alistair and Jerome Hassar. Both of them, or rather all of the siblings Hassar, bothered her. "Why are you here?" Rodrian asked the two.

"Not happy to see us?" Jerome Hassar asked Rodrian.

"It wouldn't matter, anyways," Alistair added. "We're staying with the two of you... and don't bother asking Eridiah. He said that we should."

Runa didn't like the sound of that. She looked at Rodrian, who's expression just was grim. If Eridiah thought that Rodrian was up to no good... Well, that wouldn't be good for anyone involved. "Fine," Rodrian said, after a few seconds of staring. "Come with us."

Both boys did. One of them, Alistair, put a hand on her shoulder. "Do you need help with that bag of yours?" he asked her. She gave him the bag, without saying anything. It wasn't so much of a question, as it was a 'I'll take that bag of yours'. Runa didn't like him, or any of the boys, and she knew that Rodrian didn't either.

* * *

Odale took a large bite out of an apple. Marcia wondered where she had got it from, in the middle of the winter and all. Or, of course she knew it was Magyk and she thought it was a waste of it. Odale toyed with it, passed it between her hands. "I miss Septimus," Odale said.

Marcia nodded. She had almost regretted that she had let Septimus go down into that horrible alchemists lair... almost. Still, Marcia knew that she had to let him and that the Two Faced Ring had to be destroyed. As Cashmére once had said, 'there are necessary evils in this world'. Marcia looked at Odale. Her hair, Marcia noticed, was tied back, which was not usual.

As Odale passed the apple between her hands, it changed colour. Marcia sighed. "Don't waste Magyk on that, Odale," Marcia finally said. "Do something useful."

"How come you can always manage to be so cheerful, Marcia?" Odale asked. "I mean really?"

"Oh, har har," Marcia said. "How funny you are, Odale. Maybe you should seek out comedy instead?"

Odale smiled. "You know you'd miss me," she said.

"Don't be so sure," Marcia replied. Odale rose. She went up to Marcia and gave her a brief hug. Marcia blinked in surprise. "Odale?"

"I thought that I could... well, you know, leave?" Odale asked. "Please?"

Marcia sighed, pursed her lips. "You know what I have said, Odale," Marcia said. "But... oh, well, leave if you want to. Since you know everything now. But please be careful."

"Okay, then!" Odale walked out and, when she was out of Marcia's vision and hearing, Odale rushed. Down the stairs, then outside. It was snowing outside, Odale noticed happily. She didn't know where she wanted to go, she had just know that she wanted out.

_I see you, Odale. _The voice shook her. It always did, even though she knew who it was. That stupid Thing. _Come to me, Odale_.

She didn't want to. After the Darke Domaine she had approached the Thing again, only to see where Little was... but the Thing said that she had disappeared. Since Little wasn't there, Odale saw no reason to have something to do with the Thing. But It made her stay. Odale didn't know why, she didn't know what purpose she had to It. Even though It was smart. It probably had some plan.

Odale sighed with annoyance, tried to ignore the voice in her head. _So, you don't want to meet your Little? _

She probably looked weird. Odale stood completely still, and was listening to a non-existing voice. She hurried in behind a tree, leant against it. "Little?" she whispered. "What do you know about her?"

_Find me and you __will see._

"Did you make me go out here?" Odale asked lowly, hoping that nobody was close enough to hear her.

_Perhaps. But would you trust me if I said I did? _

"I don't trust you as it is!" Odale snapped. She inhaled sharply, she had slipped.

"Odale?" she heard that it was Zamir. Odale stayed behind the tree. Whatever he wanted to say, she didn't want to hear it. "Odale," she could hear him lean against the other side of the tree. "I can hear you there. Who are you talking to?"

She was quiet. "I need to leave, Zamir," Odale said. "I have places to go to."

Odale begun to walk. "Don't get into trouble!" Zamir ran up after her. "Odale, please. Why don't you talk to me?"

She turned around. Zamir gave her a small smile, but she couldn't look at him. She just looked at his apprentice-robes. After the Darke Domaine, Zamir had told Marcia about that he knew that Merrin had the Two Faced Ring. To Zamir's surprise, Marcia hadn't fired him from his post as sub-wizard. Instead, she had let him become an apprentice.

He tried to catch her gaze and she, finally, looked into his eyes. Or eye. Odale realized that she could tell him everything, about the Thing, Little. Still, she didn't want to. Zamir hadn't trusted her, had he? Maybe for a reason, she didn't know. But if he didn't trust her, why should she trust him?

"Talk to me," Zamir begged. He looked at her as a puppy would have, but Odale never did like puppies very much.

"Leave me alone, Zamir," Odale said. Zamir sighed and stopped.

To her surprise, he let her go.

* * *

She approached the store house. It was in disrepair, the wood it was made of was rotting and Odale knew that it smelled horrifically inside. Odale sighed. In all honesty, she didn't want to go inside, but if Little was there she had to look.

Odale didn't bother to knock, instead she yanked the door open. It, as it always did, felt as if it was going to fall of it's hinges. "Hello?!" she yelled as she shut the door behind herself. _I knew you'd step by. _

"Well," Odale said. "You actually made me go outside... Now, where is she?"

"Odale-"

"Don't call me that," Odale snapped, ignoring the fact that the thing now actually _talked _to her instead of whispering inside of her head. "Where is she!?"

"Not here, but-"

Odale turned on her heels and begun to walk. "I know where she might be," the Thing finished.

"How do I know that you're not lying?" Odale asked. Once again, she turned her head and looked at It. It, she thought, was growing more and more human. But still, when she looked where It's eyes were supposed to be she thought they looked like nothing. Nothingness.

"You'll have to trust me," the Thing answered.

She bit her lip. So hard it bled. "Where is she, then?" Odale asked him.

"Orphanage," the Thing said. "It's abandoned. Right down the alley."

"I'll go find her, then," Odale said.

"Wait!" the Thing said. "There is only one thing I'd like you to do..."

"What?" Odale asked, slightly annoyed.

"I have a problem," the Thing begun.

"Not my fault," Odale said, "Not my problem."

The Thing smirked. "It is," the Thing said. "The Exchange."

"Then what is it?" Odale asked.

"The Wizard Tower," the Thing said. "I have seen wizards around here. Snooping around."

Odale rolled her eyes. "What do you want _me _to do about it?" she asked It.

"Find me a new home," the Thing said. "As soon as possible."

"Fine!" she snapped. "I will. Now, let me find her."

* * *

Alistair saw a girl step outside. She was a wizard, he could see it from where he stood. Jerome, his brother, took a step. "_Ei_," he said lowly. "_Pyshähdy._"

"I don't want to wait," Jerome snapped, but still listened and stayed in his place. Alistair looked at the girl. The girl was walking down the alley, seemingly a bit annoyed but also excited. Alistair followed her down the alley, with Jerome tight on his heels. She hadn't noticed them yet, it seemed and in that green tunic she was wearing it would be hard to run. It looked narrow, and it was long.

He was close then. If he'd take out his sword, he'd be able to reach her.

The girl, as if she had an extra ordinary hearing, suddenly turned. "Show yourself," she demanded. "Or yourselves."

Jerome hurled at her. The girl dodged, and Jerome missed her by an inch. Alistair cursed at him, in his head. His brother could be an idiot.

The girl turned to face him. She narrowed her eyes. "I know who you are," she growled. "Rebels."

She was Eastern Snowplainian, Alistair could tell, but she didn't speak any of the Snowplainian languages nor did she have an accent. He snorted. Either, she was very comfortable with her newer language or she was a good actress. Alistair bared his teeth. He didn't like her at all.

He pulled out his sword. The girl didn't look scared, not even a little amused. Behind her, Jerome did the same.

The girl sent out a sharp ray of light towards him, but he deflected it with his sword. Then, she looked surprised. Jerome jabbed at her, but she dodged him with ease again. The girl snorted. "Are you trying to fight me, or are you just looking for a play mate?" she snapped. "Because the nursery is _that way._"

She pointed in some direction, but Alistair didn't look. Instead, he sent a Binding Spell towards her feet, which the girl quickly deflected. She was, he noticed, good at what she was doing.

The girl jumped at his brother, knocking the sword out of his hand and making him land flat on his back. Alistair gritted his teeth. Jerome wasn't at his best that day. The girl stepped at his hand, and even from yards away Alistair could hear bone crack.

Aggressively he shoved the girl away from his brother. She, too, landed on her back with a moan. He could see her lift her hand to cast some spell, but Alistair kicked her roughly in the side. He put his knee to her chest and pulled out a knife. The girl was either brave or stupid, she didn't scream. Alistair put it to her neck, pushed the iron to her throat. "I'll kill you," he growled. He wanted to see her afraid.

Somebody pushed him away. He could see a red flash infront of him, someone had punched him in the face. "I told you!" Rodrian Overstrand growled. "I didn't want any bloody trouble, and what don't the two of you do?! Idiots!"

Alistair pushed his hair out of his face. He could feel his nose bleed. "R-r-" he tried to stutter, but Rodrian interrupted him.

"Get away," he yelled. "I don't want to see you by anyone who is not a rebel during the rest of this trip. Understood?"

He nodded and rose. Alistair looked over to his brother, who was dazed by some Spell the girl had put on him. Jerome groaned when Alistiar helped him up, and both of them hurried away.

* * *

Odale knew that if the man hadn't come she might have been killed, but she didn't care. She didn't like the man any better than she liked the boys.

He was tall, and she could tell he was strong. Atop of that he was a wizard, too and judging by his cloak he was one of them. The rebels. Odale remembered seeing the other girl, laying on the snow with her throat slit and her hair spread like a halo. She shivered. "Are you okay?" the man asked her. He looked genuinely concerned, but Odale wouldn't like being fooled.

She looked away. "Yeah," she said. "Maybe you should train your sons some more. They're pretty weak."

"They're not my sons," the man said. "Thankfully."

"Whatever," she snapped. Odale hadn't asked to be attacked. She just wanted to get to the orphanage and see if she could find Little. "I didn't ask for your life story, big guy."

The man scowled at her. He had, clearly, had enough of her attitude. "Now that you're okay," he said coolly, "You should get out of here."

Odale did. She wanted to run, but instead she steadily walked down the alley. All the houses were in different stages of decay, and Odale guessed that none of them were inhabited. But one could never be sure. She looked behind her. The man had disappeared, which made her happy. In some weird way, she almost recognized him and she didn't want to know from where she did.

* * *

She finally found the orphanage. Odale put a hand on it, and with a blast the door flew of it's hinges. "Little!" Odale called out into the abandoned orphanage. "Little, where are you? Are you there?"

In a corner, she could see a small creature cower. She went up to it. "Is it you, Little?" Odale asked softly.

The small creature looked up, nodded. Odale pulled it up and pulled her arms around it. "Little," she mumbled and, finally, Little let her hold her. "I've been looking all over for you."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Reunion, Sweet Reunion

* * *

Odale grabbed Little by the hand. "C'mon," she said. "We have to go."

Little looked at her. "Laurine?" she murmured. "You?"

She nodded. The small child looked as it always had, with short, badly-cared-for hair, pale and chapped lips, and hollow cheeks. Odale patted Little on the head, on the gross hair. "It's me," she whispered. "How are you?"

"You've changed," Little said.

"Well, I'm taller," Odale replied. "And I've changed my name. And..."

She had changed. A lot. But Little still mattered to her, very much. She didn't even want to think about where Little had been during all that time. Odale clutched Little's hand in hers. The girl was safe with her, then. Odale looked around in the hall she was in.

The walls were cracked, but painted up to the middle. By the look of it, by children. She trailed her fingers along the painting, wondering how she herself would have been if she grew up in an orphanage instead. Maybe Marcia would have found her earlier, maybe... Odale couldn't see it. What would Marcia have done then? Sent her away? Kept her? Made Odale her apprentice? She didn't think so.

Little made her come back to her reality. The child dug her fingers into Odale's arm. "Where are we going?" she whined.

"I don't know," Odale said. "But we're going. Somewhere safe."

"I'm still hungry!" Little complained. Odale looked down on her. Surprisingly, she hadn't noticed the torn pieces of meat by the corners of Little's mouth. She glanced back into the corner where Little had been sitting. There laid a small bird, with it's head torn from it's body.

"I'll get you some food," Odale said. "Once we're there, and it will be twice as good as that sparrow you had. Now come."

Little licked her small, chapped lips.

* * *

"I wish Odale came and visited more," Lorea said. Honey had laid her head in Lorea's lap, and Lorea ran her hand over Honey's soft fur.

Her mother put down a warm drink of some sort infront of her. "Milk with some wine," her mother replied. "For your nerves. You seem to have been very worried lately."

Lorea lifted the cup to her mouth. Her mother was right, she had been worried. Or rather anxious, but she didn't know why. Maybe it was the rebels who appeared everywhere, maybe it was something else... She took a deep drink. It made her feel very warm.

Cashmére put a hand on Lorea's lap, a spot that was not occupied by Honey. "If you are worried, _amica_," Cashmére said softly. "You must tell me. I fell when you are, but I can't do anything about it if you don't tell me."

Lorea didn't understand what her mother meant, but nodded. Her mother smiled and rose up. "Where are you going?" Lorea asked her. The worst thing about her mother was that she never seemed to be able to sit down properly and relax, which bothered Lorea. Her mother almost seemed to always have something in her hands, something in the kitchen or something in some cupboard or cabinet.

Honey groaned and moved her head around a bit. She wanted more attention. Lorea sighed and obeyed her dog.

The door in the hall creaked open. "Mum?" Odale called. Lorea smiled and rose, pushing Honey's head from her lap. She stepped into the hall, to see her sister.

Odale was clutching a tiny girl's hand in hers, and looked around anxiously. Her eyes met Lorea's. "Where's mum?" she asked.

"In the kitchen," Lorea answered shortly. "Who's that?"

The girl didn't look... right. Somehow, she looked dead to Lorea. "No one," Odale replied. "Mum was in the kitchen?"

She dragged the small child with her into the kitchen, and Lorea followed. The little girl couldn't be more than six, but looked very badly cared for. Lorea had never seen such a ill-cared for child in her life. "Mum?" Odale called again.

"Yes, '_mica_?" Cashmére said. At first, she didn't see the girl. Only her daughter with a strange, small child.

Then, she realized what it was. Cashmére dropped what she was holding in her hands on the ground. It didn't shatter, though, but Little flew into the corner like a scared kitten. "Little!" Odale exclaimed. She walked up to Little, held a hand on her shoulder. "Little, it's okay."

"Noise," Little hissed, "I don't like that noise!"

"Sh, sh," Odale soothed.

Her mother grabbed her by the collar, dragged her into the hall. "Odale," she hissed. That was the first time that Odale ever had seen Cashmére's anger directed at _her_. "_What _are you doing with that... that... _dead _thing?"

Odale looked down. "I didn't make her," she said. "I just... I take care of her."

"_Take care?_" Cashmére snapped. "She's a corpse... a walking dead! Why is she here?"

She tried to avoid her mother's glimmering with eyes. "Ma- Mum," she said. "Please. Just keep her here until I come up with something better."

"Better?" Cashmére snorted. "She should be dead, Odale. It's just a little girl, but she should be dead. Death is better than whatever she is right now, some kind of..."

Cashmére's voice stuck in her throat. "The poor child's mother," she whispered. "Where do you think she is? How do you think she feels?"

Odale looked away again. Cashmére grabbed Odale by the chin. "Odale," she said sternly. "You said you didn't make her. Then who made her?"

"DomDaniel," Odale replied shortly.

* * *

"How do I look?" Rodrian asked her. He was already dressed, while she still laid in the bed that they shared. For hours, it felt like to her, he had fussed with his clothes, which all looked the same to Runa. Either grey, brown or white... as most rebel's clothes were, with a red cloak on their shoulders. Quite ironic, Runa thought, as the current Emperor's family colour was red as well.

"Old," she answered. Rodrian actually laughed, it sounded strange to her.

"I knew that already," he said. "Just... which-"

"Wear what you are wearing," Runa rolled over to the other side. "If she gets upset with you it probably won't be your shirt. Or well, the cloak maybe..."

Rodrian nodded. "True," he said. "Well, I should probably go now... so I'm not stuck here all day."

"You do that," Runa said. He gave her a brief pat on her hand.

* * *

Cashmére caressed Odale's cheek. "I'm not angry with you in that way," Cashmére said softly. "It's just that it's something that's really close to my heart, Odale. It just makes me _so angry_."

"I understand," Odale replied. "I'm sorry I upset you, I just need to take care of her."

"See?" her mother said. "You have a little heart of gold, _amica_."

Odale looked down on her lap. "I know it's cruel," she said. "That she's alive. But I can't kill her."

Cashmére nodded. "I understand," she said. She hugged Odale tightly against her chest. "I'll take care of her."

* * *

Rodrian looked up. The Wizard Tower. He had forgot how it looked, and how dwindling high it was. It was much, much higher than all of the other buildings around it. He tried to imagine the area without it, but it simply wouldn't work. Rodrian took a deep breath. He wasn't ready for what he was about to do, but maybe it would be the only chance he'd ever get.

The large, silver doors wouldn't open for him. He pushed, tried to pull them but it wouldn't work. "Visitors are only welcome on Mondays," a boy said behind him. Rodrian turned around.

One eye looked at him, with a frown. "Besides," the boy with the eye patch said, "Your kind isn't welcome, as far as I've heard."

Rodrian stopped. His kind? Rebels, of course. "I'm here for my sister," he snapped. "Only her. Will you let me in?"

"It takes a password to do that," the boy said. Still, he went up to the door, whispered something to it. The large doors swung open, and Rodrian stepped inside.

He'd only been to the Wizard Tower two or three times, with school. It looked powerful on the inside too. Rodrian looked down on the floor which felt like sand underneath his feet, but there wasn't any message for him. Rodrian looked around.

It would take a while to find Marcia, even though he knew that she was the ExtraOrdinary Wizard. Rodrian smiled to himself. Last time he'd seen her, he'd told her that she'd _never _become the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, that she was stupid. But it was he who had been stupid.

The smile faded when he realized that Marcia would detest him, had she changed especially much she maybe even would try to kill him. No, not his sister, but still... Rodrian took another deep breath.

He grabbed the closest person he could find by the arm, but then realized he'd made a mistake. "Rodrian," Milo's voice was cold as ice. Rodrian had never heard it like that. "What are you doing here?"

Milo had been a friend of his brother, but he didn't seem to want to be especially friendly to Rodrian at that moment. "I'm looking for Marcia," Rodrian said, with as much confidence as he could bring into his voice.

"She's not available right now," Milo said. "Or, she doesn't want to talk to you."

Rodrian glared at Milo. "I need to talk to her, Milo," Rodrian snapped.

"Milo, who is-" Marcia stopped when she saw him. She looked into Rodrian's eyes.

"Leave," Marcia said. "Right now."

Marcia wasn't the little sister that Rodrian could push around anymore, but he still had to talk to her. "Marcia," he said. "Please, I need to talk to you for a moment."

"I have some things I'd like to tell you, too," Marcia replied, "Milo, stay here."

Rodrian followed Marcia away from the center of the Wizard Tower, somewhere in a corner of the big Hall. "So?" Marcia put her hands to her sides, looked at him as if he'd crawled up from a grave. "What did you want to say?"

He couldn't remember. On his way, he'd thought out so many great speeches about why they should get along, and so on, and all of them ended up with them getting along. But everything was far too real to him then. "I'm sorry," he managed to say instead.

"You're sorry?" Marcia's voice was almost poisonous. "Oh, that makes everything alright, then?"

"Of course not," Rodrian said. "But-"

"But what?" Marcia asked. "You're a rat, Rodrian. I don't want you to be here. I want you to leave her alone."

Rodrian looked away. "By the way," Marcia said coldly. "Could you tell the other rebels to stop killing people here? They have nothing to do with anything around the Eastern Snowplains."

"I have nothing to do with that, Marcia," Rodrian replied. "You should know that."

"In the same way that you had nothing to do with Lorea's kidnapping?" Marcia asked him.

"I _didn't _have anything to do with it!" Rodrian exclaimed.

Marcia snorted. "And that's why you didn't tell Joseph where she was, that she was alive, that she was alright?" she asked him coldly. Rodrian sighed.

He had thought the same thing, many things. When he'd thought about it, was more about his own safety rather than Lorea's, or about Joseph and Cashmére's  
well-being. He wasn't selfless, he knew that, he was selfish. Still, Lorea had had a good upbringing, hadn't she?

Would she have been more spoiled had she grown up with her real parents? Maybe she even would be dead. Rodrian shook his head. "Where is she, by the way?" he asked her. "Lorea."

"With her mother," Marcia said. "Don't disturb them, Rodrian. Cashmére has missed her daughter so much, and you'd only-"

"Where does her mother live?" Rodrian asked. "I won't disturb them. I just want to know..."

"No," Marcia had already decided, he could tell. He sighed.

"I'll come by tomorrow, too," he said. "Marcia. Please..."

"Please, what?" Marcia snapped.

"If Lorea come by, you can tell me I live at the Doll House," he said.

Marcia nodded. "I could do that," she muttered under her breath.

"By the way," Rodrian said. "I girl was attacked today, I saw it. She didn't get killed, though. I stopped them."

"What do you want, a gold star for being a decent human being?" Marcia asked him.

"No," Rodrian said. "It's not that. I thought she belonged to the Tower, since she was wearing apprentice robes..."

"Leave," Marcia replied. "Now."

He thought she looked a bit worried, but Rodrian still left.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: The Bet

* * *

He came back, to Marcia's annoyance. Her brother stood outside her apartment door, with his red cloak. She loathed to see him.

Rodrian must have noticed her look, because he took of his long, red cloak and held it in his arms. He cleared his throat, looked at her. "Hello, Marcia," he said. "It's nice to see you again."

Marcia narrowed her eyes. "I wish I could say that, too," Marcia said.

"Can I come in?" Rodrian ignored her comment, of course.

"Will you hit me again if I don't let you?" Marcia asked coldly.

To her surprise, he didn't look away again. "Absolutely not," Rodrian answered, "Marcia, I am sorry. Didn't I ever say I was?"

"No, you never did," Marcia said. "Oh, just enter, Rodrian."

Rodrian did. He looked around, took in his surroundings. Marcia didn't like the little smile that he gave her, as if they'd actually ever be siblings who'd get along. Somewhere deep in her conscience Marcia knew that she was a bit childish. Still, Rodrian _had _ruined much. Amongst things, a perfectly happy family. One could argue he did it thrice, but once was enough. "You've nestled nicely in here, haven't you, Marcia?" he asked her.

"Comes with the job," Marcia said.

"And look!" Rodrian smiled. "These are the faerie pots you liked, isn't it?"

Marcia didn't know how he knew that, if he'd remembered it or if it was some trick of Magyk, to make her finally trust him. "What are you doing here, Rodrian?" she asked him.

"I came to apologize, Marcia," Rodrian answered. "As I've said. For bothering you yesterday, for hitting you back there, for being a... well, a-"

"Horrible human being who should not be allowed to breath the air normal people does whatsoever?" Marcia filled in.

"Well, yes," Rodrian replied. He gave her another, faint smile. "That's a long insult."

"It's not my child that you kidnapped," Marcia said to him. "Thanks to you, I barely ever met her."

Rodrian looked to his feet, again. "I know, Mar," he said. Marcia flinched. No one ever called her that nick name, ever. Not for a very long time, not since Joseph stopped appearing to her.

She too looked away. "You came with the other rebels, didn't you?" she asked him. Rodrian nodded. "Why are they here?"

"They want to form an alliance with as many countries as possible," Rodrian answered. "We've been losing strength back home... the leaders thought that maybe if we joined forces with other countries, maybe we could get a force that matters. To bring Tantibus down."

Marcia pursed her lips. That was what they meant with killing the girls. Be our allies, or... She sighed, she'd have to hear it from Rodrian. "And if we'd refuse?" she asked him. "What would they do?"

Rodrian shrugged. "I have no idea." he said. "Some kind of vengeance, I suppose. Unless you get support from the Emperor... or simply gather enough strength of your own."

She almost snorted. The Wizard Tower, and the Wizards inside of it, had power. But none of them were fighters they'd never been. The Castle as a whole preferred diplomacy and discussion before violence. Marcia did, too. "Could you do something?" Marcia asked him.

"I'm sorry," Rodrian said. "I chose not to become a leader a few years back. Besides, I'm afraid I'm not as respected as I was a few years ago."

"You're to no use now that your brother is dead, is it so?" she asked him. "Since you killed him?"

The look he gave her was truly horrifying. "I never killed him!" he snapped. "I never would, you _know _that, Marcia! You're angry, I know. I understand. But _don't accuse me of things we both know I never did!_"

"Don't yell at me," she told him angrily. "Ever again."

They went quiet. "But," she added, after what felt like a small eternity. "Since you told me all that, maybe... I could make you some tea and we could talk for a bit."

* * *

Odale stopped, looked at him. "I'm busy, Zam," she said. She kept on walking

"This will only take a moment," he replied.

"Fine," Odale said.

"Why are you avoiding me, Odale?" he asked her. "You've been avoiding me ever since the Darke Domaine... why?"

She twisted her bracelet slowly. "I haven't been avoiding you," she told him. "Why do you think that? Sure, I've been busy, but-"

Zamir raised his eyebrows. "So that's why whenever I've talked to you, you've said that you're busy but when I later asked Marcia she said you weren't busy?" he asked her.

He could see her clench her jaw. "I see," she said. "No one trusts me. Again."

"Is that it?" Zamir asked her. "That I thought you might have-"

"Finally!" Odale dropped her hands to her sides.

"Odale," Zamir said. "It wasn't that I didn't trust you, Odale. It was more that I... well, I worried about you, with Merrin and all."

She walked away from him quickly, not looking back. Zamir ran after. "That's why you're annoyed with Marcia all the time, too, isn't it, Odale?" he asked her. She ignored him, but he followed her. "It's all because you're so paranoid, isn't it?"

"You know nothing about me, Zamir," Odale snapped. "_Nothing!_"

"I was your best friend-"

"_Was!_" Odale said, "Keyword is _was, _Zamir. You went on a vacation, and left me alone, remember?"

"Fine!" Zamir snapped. "Be that person."

"Sod off, Zamir!" Odale said. She left.

* * *

She poured up tea for him. He never thought she'd do that, ever. "Thank you," he said, but he wasn't especially fond of tea. Maybe it was years of the ill-tasting concoction that the rebels called tea that had made him dislike it, but Rodrian didn't think he ever had.

"So," Marcia said. "How's Runa?"

Rodrian blinked. He hadn't realized that Marcia knew who Runa was. "She's well," he replied quickly. "Which, well, makes me want to ask you something..."

"Spit it out," Marcia said.

"Can I name my child after you?" he asked her.

Marcia laughed out loud. "Excuse me?"

"The middle name, I mean," he said. "Marcia if it's a girl, Marcius if it's a boy..."

"Did you come all this way to ask me if you could name your child after me?" Marcia raised an eyebrow.

He smiled at her. "Why, no," he said. "But can I?"

She pursed her lips. Rodrian could tell that she thought for a little while, but at last she nodded. "Sure," she said. "But you're having a child?"

"Well, not me, obviously," Rodrian joked, "But Runa is."

Marica looked away. "What do you and Runa want to name the child?" she asked. He smiled.

"Obviously, we don't know," Rodrian said. "Runa has a few suggestions... Solveig, Ragna or Ragnar, Einar... We decided that she decide one middle name, I decide another middle name and we both decide a first name."

Marcia nodded. "That is a smart thing to do," she said.

A knock was heard. Marcia quickly rose and went to the door. "It must be my apprentice," she said. Rodrian followed her, he'd like to meet Marcia's apprentice. He wondered who it was, what he or she looked like...

It wasn't Marcia's apprentice, it was a rebel. Marcia froze.

* * *

Odale entered the great, silver doors and stepped into the Hall. She was stopped right there by one of the newest additions to the Wizard Tower, Dandra Draa. "Miss Overstrand," she said. Odale hated being called that. "Madam Marcia wants you to keep out of her room, until she comes and fetches you at your mother's house."

"Why?" Odale asked. Thoughts raced through her brain, but she couldn't come up with a reason why.

"She said so," Dandra Draa shrugged. Odale pursed her lips. Something had to be wrong, otherwise Marcia would have told her herself... or given her a note, or something.

She spun around, walked away. "Odale!" someone called, she turned around.

"Jenna?" she asked. "What are you doing here? Septimus is with Marcellus."

"I know that," Jenna answered. "I wanted to meet you."

Odale blinked in surprise. "Why?" she wondered.

"I thought it would be nice to meet you," Jenna said. "But sure, if you don't want to..."

She grabbed Jenna's wrist. "No, please stay," Odale replied. "I just need to look at something first."

Odale let the silver stairs take her up, Jenna followed. What Odale saw made her feel extremely cold. The two boys she had met a day ago stood outside the door. She wondered what on earth rebels were doing outside of Marcia's door, but firstly she had to get inside.

Odale tried to get to the door, but one of the boys (the shorter one) grabbed her wrist and twisted it hard. "What are you doing?" he snapped.

"I live here," she replied. "Now move, my mentor's in there."

The other boy snorted. "What are you going to do about it, anyways?" he asked her, clearly challenging her. Odale lifted her chin up, hoped that she would look scary.

"I'll kill you," she said.

Both boys laughed at her. Odale raised an eyebrow. "Don't you believe me?" she asked.

"Well, since it worked so good last time when we attacked you..." the taller one said. Odale gritted her teeth.

"Do you want to bet?" she asked.

"What?" the boy wondered, she could tell he tried to sound innocent.

"I fight _one _of you, and I win the bet if I win," Odale said. "And if you win over me, which never will happen, you win."

"Yes, but _what _do we win?" the short boy asked.

Odale crossed her arms. "Whatever you want, that I can possibly give," Odale said. "And if you win, what do I get?"

"Same," the taller one said. "Whatever you want, that we can actually give you."

"Let's take it outside, then," Odale said. All that Marcia ever had told her about safety close to the rebels washed away. Odale just wanted to beat them somehow, right then. She wanted to beat their smiles from their faces.

The taller one of them stopped her. "Wait a second," he said. "You said only one of us. Which one?"

Odale didn't hesitate. "You," she said. "Whatever's your name."

He was the older one, she could tell. Partially because his length, partially because he looked like he was older. Maybe seventeen or eighteen. The boy laughed at her again. "Fine, then," he said.

"Come on, Jenna," Odale turned to face Jenna.

"Odale..." Jenna said. "Who are they?"

"Idiots," Odale replied shortly. She had forgot all about Marcia perhaps being in trouble and was a bit excited.

* * *

Clarence saw the apprentice girl going down the spiral stairs, with the princess and two rebels. He didn't understand what he saw. Hadn't Odale seen enough of what the rebels did? Was she really so stupid that she would engage with them? He sighed. The rebels couldn't know who she was...

He made his way up to her. "Odale!" he said. "I meant-"

She glared at him. "What is it, Clark?" she asked. Right. He didn't know why he hadn't told her his real name. Or well, it was from the small inn. She'd asked him, and he couldn't let her know he was living in the Wizard Tower...

"Whatever you're trying to do, believe me it's stupid," Clarence said.

"So was stalking me," Odale said coldly. He could clearly see her as an Heiress. She was as snappy and stubborn as they were said to be. Clarence sighed.

"Yes, but so is being around the rebels..." he replied.

"It was your girlfriends choice," the rebel boy said. Clarence felt his cheeks turn red. He didn't understand how Odale could be so foolish as to go outside, without protection, when rebels were near. It was as if she hadn't seen enough...

Odale kept walking. "Besides, I have a bet to win," she said. He quickly followed her, so that she would not disappear forever.

* * *

Odale watched the older boy. He was tall, with broad shoulders. Maybe he looked agile, but it was probably easy to hit. The boy was probably not even prepared for his style of fighting...

She put a hand on her belt. Odale didn't want to _kill _the boy, that would only be problematic... she just had to hurt him. Odale knew she had a ThunderStun in a pocket, somewhere. She dug through, found the small Charm and held it in her hand. It was cold, smooth and the sharp edges cut into her palm. "So," the boy said. He was about to say something else, but Odale sent a ThunderStun his way.

The boy only dodged in the last second. He laughed at her. "You're quick," he said instead. "You almost had me there."

Odale snorted. "I'm only warming up," she told him.

"That's what people always say," he said. She heard a snap, and looked to the boy's hands. He was holding a long, thin sword in his hands.

She inhaled sharply, then tried to calm herself down. Odale had been attacked with knives before, a sword had to be about the same thing. Only longer... "Scared now?" he asked her.

Odale laughed at him, and hoped it didn't sound fake. "With that tiny stick?" she asked him. "No way."

He jabbed at her with it, but Odale moved quickly. She moved, so that she was behind him and sent another flash of light towards him. It hit him in the back, scorching his cloak. The Spell surely had hit his back, because Odale heard him wince. "You're very slow," she said. "Rebel."

"Bitch," the rebel boy growled. Odale sent another, but to her surprise the boy twisted his sword slightly and the Spell came flying back at her. It hit her in the harm.

Odale grimaced. "Didn't know that, did you?" the rebel laughed. But Odale could hear that he was already gasping. Odale hurled at him, stunning his hand so that he dropped his sword. She quickly swept it up, it turned to a small stick in her hand.

Quickly, she tossed it so that the boy wouldn't get his hands om it again. Still, she was too close. He pushed her to the ground and she landed flat on her back, lost her breath. The boy threw a spell at her, but she managed to cross her arms over her face. The Spell scorched arms, and Odale cried out. He threw another at her, and Odale rolled away. She managed to kick his leg away from underneath him and he fell, too.

Odale sat down, beat him on the chin. Then she put her hands on his chest, pushed a jolt of electricity into him. He groaned.

The boy shoved her of and she rolled to her side. She groaned and rose to her feet. Odale saw the boy hurl at her again, and she prepared to throw herself back. But when she moved closer, Odale felt herself crash into something and was thrown back. She landed on her back again and she looked up.

The rebel had been thrown to the other way, too, and she saw a tall man move up between them. "Alistair, stop it!" the man barked. "Do you remember what we had a talk about at the Doll House?"

Alistair rose to his feet, and Odale could see he was bleeding from his chin. She didn't know that she had punched him that hard. "Now leave, Alistair," the tall man said. It was the same man from before. She guessed she should than him, but she didn't want to. He was a rebel, too.

The man helped her to her feet. Jenna and Clark rushed up to her, both of them. "I'll take you to madam Marcia," the rebel man said, "But don't get into anymore trouble."

"Make sure that your boys keep to themselves, then," Odale snapped.

"There, there," the man said.

Clarke grabbed Odale's arm. "_We'll _take her, rebel," he snapped.

"I want to apologize for my proteges," the man replied. "You can come with, of course-"

"I'm coming with you," Clarke said.

Odale looked at Jenna. "Sorry for ruining things for you," Odale said. "I just-"

"It's okay," Jenna replied and smiled, but it looked very bothered in Odale's opinion. She sighed. "But I'll go now..."

The man tugged at her arm. "Let's take you to madam Marcia," Odale said.

* * *

She hadn't know how she thought that Marcia would react. The man explained what had happened for her, and Marcia glared at her. "Are you suicidal, Odale?" Marcia snapped when Odale explained it was a bet. "Don't you remember what I told you?"

"He wouldn't let me inside," Odale mumbled.

"I didn't _want _you to go inside!" Marcia exclaimed. "Didn't Dandra tell you so?"

Odale nodded. "Yes, she did, but-"

"What if Rodrian wouldn't have intervened?" Marcia asked her. "You could've died, Odale. Or worse."

The man interrupted. "Your apprentice seemed to be doing well on her own, Marcia," he said. "It's just that-"

"Shut up, Rodrian," Marcia said. "I don't need that right now."

Odale bit her lip. She had never thought that Marcia would be _that _angry. "You're my _niece_, Odale," Marcia said. "I can't... I can't replace you."

"I know, I know," Odale replied. "I'm sorry..."

"Niece?" the man looked at her. "I'm surprised I didn't see it before... Marcia-"

"Yes," Marcia said. "Rodrian... this is Odale. Odale, that's Rodrian. He's your uncle. Or, one of them."

The man, Rodrian, smiled at her. "Hello, Odale," he said. "You actually look like your sister when she was your age."

Odale blushed.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Behind the Heiress's Door

* * *

Odale walked beside Rodrian. He actually looked a bit like her father, but much older than what her father was. Or had been like when he died. The hair growing from his temples were turning iron-grey, and his beard was seemingly fading.

He was a rebel. She couldn't get beyond that. _Her uncle was a rebel. _It was hard to digest, even though he didn't look like what she thought a rebel would look like. The boys she'd met earlier didn't look like what she'd imagined rebels to look like, either, but they were different. They weren't her _uncle_. "Your name is Odale, right?" Rodrian asked her.

Great, Odale thought. Her uncle had already forgot her name. "Yes," she just said.

Rodrian smiled. "I saw you fight," he said. "You were good. Did Marcia really teach you that?"

Odale's cheeks turned red. "No," she replied. If he'd grown up in the Castle, he would more than likely know who DomDaniel was.

Then, Odale thought, on the other hand Rodrian was a rebel. Maybe he'd like DomDaniel? Maybe... Rodrian's hand brushed against her shoulder. "Then who did?" he asked her carefully.

"My old mentor," Odale answered.

Seemingly, Rodrian realized that she didn't want to talk about it. "How's your sister?" he changed the subject, which Odale didn't like any better.

"Well," Odale replied.

"You've talked a lot to her, I suppose?" he asked her. She hadn't. Odale could probably count how many times she'd met Lorea since their first encounter, and Lorea made her uneasy. She was supposed to be dead, wasn't she?

Besides, Odale almost felt as if Lorea had taken her place as Cashmére's daughter. She knew that she'd been trying to avoid Cashmére for a while, but she had grown more and more to like her... and it was as if Lorea had gotten in between. It wasn't that Odale _disliked _Lorea. Maybe she didn't appreciate that Lorea had came at just _that _time, but she didn't hate her...

She realized that Rodrian had asked her a question. Embarrassed, she had to ask him to repeat himself. "So, Marcia's your tutor?" he asked her, again.

Odale nodded. "How is it to have your aunt as your tutor?" he asked her. Odale shrugged.

"I don't know," she said. "Okay..."

Rodrian stopped. "Alexander," he said. Odale looked up, and widened her eyes. She'd thought he was dead.

Alexander Flarthy stood infront of her, with a smirk as wide as ever. "Rodrian," Flarthy raised a hand as a greeting. "And miss Overstrand. Funny to see the two of you together here, seeing as the two of you look... very alike. Seeing it as you're madam Marcia's sister, and miss here is-"

Her uncle put a protective hand on her shoulder. "Odale here," he said. "Is actually my daughter."

Odale tried not to look surprised. "Funny," Flarthy said. "How did she end up in the snow, then, Rodrian? Did Runa leave her there?"

"Mistake," her uncle murmured. "Now, I haven't seen my _daughter _for a few years. Will you leave us alone, now, please?"

Rodrian dug his fingers into her arm, dragged her away. Odale felt an odd feeling of coldness build up inside her. Had Rodrian lied to Flarthy, or was what he said true? He couldn't be his father, could he? Was that why she wasn't blonde, like her mother and sister?

When Flarthy was out of sight, her uncle stopped her again. "Odale," he said. "How do you know him? Does he know who you are?"

"He knows I'm Marcia's niece, that's all," Odale replied. "I... he worked at the Tower, and before that-"

"With DomDaniel, I know," Rodrian said. "You're the little..?"

"The little what?" Odale snapped.

"Assassin?" he asked her. Odale nodded.

* * *

"Are you really going to let a girl humiliate you like that?" his brother said. People looked at them funny, probably because they didn't understand the language. Alistair liked that, from time to time. That no one understood what he said...

"Of course not," he replied. "But what can I do? Overstrand keeps appearing beside her, like some kind of guardian..."

Alistair sighed. "But sure, if I get the chance, of course I will beat her to pieces..."

Jerome raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you can manage?" he asked him, with a glimpse in his eye. "Because you couldn't beat Yvonne-"

"Shut up," Alistair growled. "We don't talk about her, remember?"

His brother laughed at him. "You're still pathetic," he said. "She's gone now, anyways."

"She's our sister," Alistair said. "She'll never be _gone_."

Alistair was still angry with their sister, who'd left them. 'I feel so misplaced, Alistair', she'd said. 'I can't live like this anymore'. Of course she could have, Alistair thought. She just didn't want to, she was just lazy...

Jerome grabbed him by the arm. "See that over there?" he whispered smiling. Alistair looked. It was a girl, with black hair. The girl saw them, too, unfortunately. Alistair watched her. She was about the same age as the girl who'd almost beat him, but she didn't look especially fast.

He made a move towards her. Before he or Jerome could react, the girl was gone. They looked at each other. Was she some kind of witch? The purple eyes had made him feel uneasy.

* * *

Odale stopped. "This is where my mother lives," she said. It looked bizarrely normal, Rodrian thought. Nothing hinted that the Eastern Snowplains former Heiress lived there... He looked at her.

A few years ago, he would have killed her mother if he could have. Actually he had imagined it at some points and once he'd almost done it. Rodrian didn't know what had changed, what had happened to him. He simply didn't find any pleasure in it any more.

His niece opened the door to him. "Mum!" Odale shouted. "I'm back!"

"Odale!" Cashmére said. When she saw Rodrian, she froze. Rodrian froze too. He had forgot to take his cloak off.

"Mum?" Odale said. "This is Rodrian, my uncle. Mum, I know it looks bad, but-"

Cashmére laughed. She actually laughed, and Rodrian stared at her in confusion. So did Odale. "This isn't happening," she laughed. "First you bring home that myling... and now this."

"Uhm," Rodrian decided to interfere. "Is Lorea home?"

Odale's mother gave Rodrian an angry look. "What do you care?" she spat. Rodrian looked to his feet. Cashmére had every right to be mad with him. Perhaps he'd hoped that, since he'd take care of Lorea, she wouldn't be so... furious, but he'd been wrong.

The former Heiress shook her head. "Since Lorea came back..." the woman stopped, as if to think. "I've been thinking about what could be said. If I'm grateful, angry or something in between."

Rodrian's mouth was as dry as desert. "But I'm not angry, I'm furious," Cashmére said. Then, her voice was raised. "You, just as all the other rebels, _took _my daughter from me. You _took _my husband from me-"

"I took care of your daughter!" Rodrian protested. "For years and years-"

"If you truly _cared_," Cashmére's voice was dripping with poison. "You would have given her back to her father and me. We would have been grateful, but now... you've _wrecked _a family!"

Rodrian closed his eyes. It was true. Every word of it. Cashmére's eyes flashed and she sent away a ray towards him. He barely dodged it. "I don't want to fight you!" he said.

"Coward!" she growled. The carpet underneath his feet was ripped from underneath him, and both he and Odale fell. Cashmére made the carpet wrap around him. "I'll kill you, I'll kill you!"

"Mum!" Odale exclaimed. "Stop it now! He's my uncle."

Cashmére's arms dropped to her sides and looked at her youngest daughter. "Odale," she said softly. "Don't you see? He _took _your sister from you, did he not?"

Her daughter nodded. "But _you_ left me," Odale said. "With the intent to _kill me_."

Cashmére looked away, the same way Rodrian had. "I know, _amica_," Cashmére mumbled. "But I... I didn't want you to suffer."

"You couldn't even kill me," Odale said venomously. "You didn't even give me that. You just left me."

"Love-"

"So don't come and say that he deserves to die, because he did far more for Lorea than you ever did for me!" Odale snapped. Cashmére nodded.

"Well, then," she said. "Rodrian, Lorea will be here in a moment. She's out with a friend for the moment."

* * *

In a way, Zamir liked being alone. No one stared at his eyepatch when he was alone, nor did anyone whisper anything close enough for him to hear that they were whispering but not close enough for hint to hear _what _they said. He really liked all that, but there was one part he didn't like.

The being-alone part. But with Odale having pretty much left him, he had no one. Except for his new mentor, of course, but that was different. His new mentor was a good person, Zamir could tell, but he could not confide in his new mentor. Zamir fiddled with his sleeve. And Odale was furious. Maybe she even hated him.

Zamir had told her he'd known that Merrin had the Two-Faced Ring. At first, she'd laughed at him. He'd been angry, too, said that it wasn't a joking matter. Then he'd seen how her eyes went all dark. Then, the silence had begun. She'd said nothing to him for days, looked and walked right past him... At last Septimus had convinced her to talk to him. And she had. Or yelled at him, more so. Afterwards Odale had left him alone again. She'd told him he was just as bad as Merrin had been.

He closed his eyes. He'd already known he was. All of it wasn't his fault, he'd always been an unlucky bird. Zamir had his eye to prove it. He hit his hand hardly into the wall, but it only hurt and didn't relieve his anger. "Zamir!" his mentor called. "I need you here. Pronto."

* * *

"Rodrian!" Lorea laughed. "Rodrian!"

She threw herself at him, Rodrian wrapped her arms around her. "Lorea," Rodrian hugged her, "I've missed you so much."

Lorea smiled. "Where's Runa?" she asked. Rodrian's voice caught in his throat.

"In an inn, just," Rodrian said. "Where we're staying.

"Okay," Lorea said.

* * *

Cashmére grabbed Odale by the arm. "Don't you want to say hello to Colum and Lorea?" she asked. Odale shook her head.

"I need to go, now, mum," she said. "Marcia said she wanted me to go back to the Tower at once. With Septimus gone, there's twice as much work to be done..."

"Well that's not fair, is it?" Cashmére replied. "Please stay, Odale. It's family, after all."

"I know, it's just that Marcia wanted me home," Odale said. "I can't just ignore her. At least not today..."

Her mother sighed. Then, Odale saw it. Cashmére was jealous, of Rodrian. Odale smiled. "But you can go with me, at least part of the way," Odale continued. Cashmére smiled back at her daughter.

"Of course," she said. "I'd love to. Let me just get my coat..."

* * *

"C'mon!" Jerome rose to his feet. "Let's get her now."

Alistair laughed at him. "No," he said. "As I've said, a hundred times about now. Will you leave it alone for a while, Jerome?"

Jerome snorted, sat down. "So, you're not going to do anything, then?" he asked.

"Of course I am," Alistair said. "I actually have a plan... but not yet. I'll have to wait a little while."


	8. Chapter 8

**(A/N Shorter than usual, but anyways...)**

* * *

Chapter 8: White Lies

* * *

Her mother had left when she was almost halfway back home. Odale stopped in the Snake Slipway. "Septimus," she said and turned around. Septimus stood by Marcellus's door.

"Hi!" Septimus replied and waved.

Odale went up beside him. "Nice to see you again," Odale said. "Marcia misses you."

"She told you that?" Septimus asked her. Odale smiled.

"No, I just know," Odale answered. "How's it being an alchemist, by the way?"

"It's alright," Septimus said. "I miss being above ground, but it's alright."

She laughed. "Well, Marcia needs me back now, so I have to go," Odale told him. "See you in a few weeks!"

Odale walked away.

* * *

Cashmére didn't like sharing her daughters with anyone. Especially not if said person had originally kidnapped her daughter, and on top of that appeared almost twenty years later in a rebel's cloak. It didn't matter, she thought, of said person was her brother-in-law. She had wrapped an arm around Lorea's shoulders.

Rodrian was looking down to his feet. Cashmére supposed Lorea didn't know what he was, since as soon as Rodrian had heard the knock on the door he had kicked the cloak in under the couch. She didn't know what he'd thought. He would, soon or later, have to get it and then tell her. "I've missed you so much," Lorea said, again. "How are you? How is Runa?"

"She's fine," Rodrian replied.

"Who's Runa?" Cashmére asked.

"My wife," Rodrian said. Then, he froze. Lorea opened her mouth, as if to say something. "I meant-"

"You're married?" she asked. "Lucky you, but why haven't you told me?"

Rodrian smiled at her. "We all have our secrets, don't we?" he said softly. He patted Lorea on the cheek. Cashmére looked at him in disdain, which he seemed to notice since he quickly let his hand fall back to his side. "Maybe I should leave, so that you and your mother-"

"No!" Lorea said. She grabbed his arm, and Cashmére thought of the little girl who had clung to a venomous viper when Cashmére'd suggested to have it killed. That was what Rodrian was to her. A venomous viper.

"I'll be back tomorrow," Rodrian replied. "Alright?"

"Alright," Lorea hugged him tight. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Rodrian told her. Cashmére's mouth felt dry. Lorea treated Rodrian as she should have treated Joseph, had he been alive. Rodrian left, and Cashmére finally got her daughter back.

* * *

Odale kicked off her boots by the door. "I'm back," Odale shouted.

"Already?" Marcia asked. "I'm in my study."

"Can I come in?" Odale knocked lightly on the door. "Please?"

"Of course," Marcia said. Odale pushed the door open. It creaked open, and Odale stopped. She swore lowly, narrowed her eyes.

The boy, Clark or whatever he was called, sat on a chair. He, when their eyes met, into the wall. She crossed her arms, looked to Marcia. "Why is _he _here?" Odale asked snappily.

"He has important information," Marcia said, lowly.

"What, have you asked him to stalk Jenna, too?" Odale growled. "Or Septimus?"

Marcia sighed. "Odale, please," she said. "They're not like you, these men would jump at you if they knew who you are. _Besides_, you're not the only thing he was looking for. He was looking for whatever they want to do here."

Odale sat down. "Well, has he found something?" she asked. She glanced at him, and hoped that she would look frightening to him. "Because I swear he hasn't. Has he?"

Clark grimaced. "I actually have," he said. "Or, well-"

"Well, what?" Marcia asked.

"Nothing new," Clark said. "It only confirmed what you thought earlier, that they're just here because they wanted an agreement. And that they want to move further down, to look for other agreements with other places."

"So you didn't find out anything new?" Odale asked.

"_Odale!_" Marcia snapped. "Please, do be quiet. Clarence, was there really nothing else?"

"Clarence?" Odale said. "You meant Clark, right?"

Marcia hushed her down. "No," Clark replied, "I'm sorry. But are you sure you shouldn't send a message to lord Tantibus? He could help. Maybe he could-"

"Send soldiers?" Marcia filled in, coolly. "No, thank you. It would only make people uncomfortable. And for what?"

Clark leant back, sighed. "I think people would feel safer, at least the snowplainians..." he said.

"But this isn't the snowplains!" Marcia protested. "We can't do anything. Besides, the rebels would be furious."

Odale put her feet up on her hair, pulled her hand through her hair. Clark, when he thought she wasn't watching, looked at her. He made her feel like a freak. Did her hair look odd? Was her tunic not in order? She didn't get it. "Odale, wake up!" Marcia said. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Mhm," Odale replied. "Sure..."

"Then what did I say?" Marcia asked, raised an eyebrow.

Odale crossed her arms. "Fine, I didn't hear," Odale said. "What did you say?"

"Would you take him to the Port, Odale?" Marcia asked. "I'm afraid he could get lost."

"Can't you do it?" Odale snapped. "Since it's so important."

"No," Marcia said. "I told you to do it. Why won't you do it?"

Odale rose up. "Fine, then," she snapped. "I'll do it."

* * *

"Odale," Clark said. "Please, don't be mad with me. I never meant to-"

"What, stalk me?" Odale snapped. "Clarke... That isn't even your name, is it? Marcia called you something else. Clarence, Clarissa, or whatever."

Clarke clenched his jaw. "You talk like a real royal," he snapped back at her. "Odale, come on. I know you're better than this. Your aunt-"

"Sod off, Clarke," Odale said. "I'm taking you to where you're going, that's all. Stop _talking_."

He went quiet.

* * *

Rodrian put an arm over Lorea's shoulders. "We need a really long talk," he told her lowly. "I have something big to tell you. Very big, and important, and you must promise me not to kill... me."

Lorea laughed. "I would never kill you," she told Rodrian. "Why would I..?"

"I suppose that Marcia or your mother has told you who you really are?" Rodrian said. "That you... you are the Emperor's granddaughter, you were kidnapped when you were four?"

His niece nodded. "I'm... yes, I know," Lorea replied, despite still not knowing how she didn't remember the kidnapping. She remembered her first day at school, her first crush, her first kiss... but not that she'd been the becoming Heiress, that's she'd been kidnapped...

"The rebels kidnapped you," Rodrian told her softly. "As you know. And, twenty years ago, I heard of it. I heard them talk about you, my brother's own daughter, and despite me being one of them, I couldn't. I couldn't let them have you. So I went to miss Lynn, that's the woman who held you captive, and I took you. Killed her. Then I left, and raised you on my own."

"I don't understand," Lorea said. "Are you..?"

"Yes," Rodrian said. "I'm a rebel. I should've told you, I should've."

Lorea took a deep breath. "Yes," she said. "You should have."

"I'm sorry," Rodrian watched her. She was trembling a bit, Rodrian thought. He put a hand on her shoulder, as gently as he could manage. "Lorea, maybe you should sit down for a little while."

"I'm _fine!_" Lorea snapped and brushed his hand off her shoulder. She'd never ever snapped at him before. She'd never not let him care for her. Rodrian let his hands fall to his sides.

Lorea looked away from him. "I understand that this is hard for you, Lorea," Rodrian whispered. "But-"

"Rodrian, the rebels hate the monarchy," Lorea said. "Not that... whatever. But they want the monarchy _dead. _My father was married to the heiress... I was the Heiress to be. Why would you want us dead?"

"I never wanted you dead!" Rodrian replied. "Never. I just opposed-"

Lorea shook her head. "I don't want to hear it," Lorea told him angrily. "I don't!"

She shoved past him. "Leave me alone!" she shouted when he came after her.

* * *

"So," Odale stopped. "This was where you were going, right?"

Clark nodded. "Yes," he said. "I live here."

"You mean you just moved in?" Odale asked. Clark shook his head.

"Not really," he answered. "I've lived her for a few years now..."

Odale crossed her arms. "So, you weren't lost at all?" she asked. Clark sighed.

"No," he told her. Odale clenched her jaw, turned around. "_I _didn't like!" he called after her.

Odale sighed. "Clarence!" a woman called, and Odale turned around. The woman must've been Clark, or Clarence's mother, since she hugged him tightly.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Old Enemies

* * *

The weeks passed quickly, Odale thought, despite that she missed Septimus slightly and that Marcia was slowly driving her mad. _Don't go out now, _she'd say and Odale would roll her eyes. Marcia was worried, Odale understood that and Rodrian had explained more to her, but she didn't care. She wanted _out. _The Warming Supper, however, made it impossible. Odale _would _be there, Marcia'd said, end of story, end of discussion. She sighed at the thought of it. Luckily, Septimus would be there. In the end.

Odale put on the dress. It was pretty, Odale thought, but she'd die before she let Marcia know it.

The dress was green, reached her knees, and had some kind of bird embroidered on her side. She thought it was a sparrow.

Marcia knocked on her door. "Come in," Odale said. Marcia nodded when she saw Odale.

"Good," she said. "Now, could you go down to the First Floor?"

"Are you sure that no one is going to kidnap me?" Odale snapped. Marcia rolled her eyes.

Odale knew that their talk was over. She, much to Marcia's surprise, gave Marcia a brief hug. In response, Marcia gave Odale a pat on the shoulder. Odale looked down to her feet, smiled and walked away. She went down the stairs.

The Great Hall was almost full, she counted around fifty people. And more would come. Personally, she didn't understand why it was such a big fuzz. It was only new people.

She wrapped her arms over her chest, and begun to wait.

* * *

Knowing he was a bit creepy, he watched her. Odale stood beside Zamir, Zamir held his hand on Odale's shoulder, but only for a brief moment. She quickly turned away from him.

Clarence hesitated before approaching her. His mother had told him never to force his company onto a girl, or anyone really. Still, maybe once wouldn't matter so much...

He thought she was pretty. Odale's teeth was slightly too big and a bit crooked, and her brown skin was freckled. But she had an honest laugh, he thought, even though she sometimes scared him a bit. Especially when she was angry, and she was angry a lot. His gut tightened when he thought of approaching her. She'd be mad. He understood, but he didn't want her to be.

It didn't even make sense. He'd spent a few weeks looking at her, it was just creepy. He didn't know her.

Without thinking, Clarence approached her. "Hello," he said. Odale sighed.

"Hi, Cla-whatever," she said.

"It's Clarence," he told her. Odale rolled her eyes.

"Okay," she replied. He looked down at her. The dress had half-long, but with very wide sleeves with sparrow's embroidered onto them. He liked them.

"How are you?" he asked her.

She probably had ran out of insults, because she only pushed her hair back a bit. "Well," she answered, shortly. "And you?"

"I'm very well," he replied. "Could we talk?"

Odale crossed her arms, looked at him. "Then, what are we doing now?" she asked him. "We're already talking, Clarence."

He sighed, looked down to his feet. "I meant that I want to apologize for following you," he answered. "It wasn't okay, I know."

"Oh, you do?" Odale said. "Maybe you should have thought of that before."

"Odale, I'm apologizing-"

"I know," Odale said. "Okay. Fine. Apology somewhat accepted."

* * *

He was alright, Odale guessed, and a bit funny. "So, you're Snowplainian, too?" she asked him, after a while. Clarence went quiet.

"My parents are," he told her.

"Then aren't you?"

Clarence stared at her. "How could I be, if I don't even know what it even means to be one?" he said. Odale looked down.

"I supposed, since your parents are, that you-"

"Would you call yourself Snowplainian?" Clarence asked.

It was like a punch to her gut. She, for a while, hadn't thought much about it herself. Odale crossed her arms over her chest, as if to protect herself. "I don't know," she replied.

"It's hard, isn't it?" he asked her.

She nodded. "True," she said. He smiled at her, showing a series of small, white teeth. Odale smiled back. "Do I scare you?"

"For a girl that's threatened me with murder?" he laughed. "Not so much."

"I threatened you with murder?" Odale asked, puzzled. She didn't remember _that_, she thought and grasped a coil of hair, twisting the tight curls between her fingers. Maybe she should cut it? She'd never tried that before...

"A few years back," he answered. _Oh, boy, _she thought.

"I still don't remember," Odale said. "Remind me."

"We were around eleven, I think, at least I was," he told her. "I mocked your friend, you know that other apprentice? And then you grabbed me by the throat and said you'd killed me if I continued."

"Oh," Odale said. She could barely suppress her smile, and Clarence smiled back at her.

"Do you want to sit down?" he wondered, gesturing at a bench that someone had put up against the wall.

Odale shook her head. "No," she said. "I haven't seen Septimus yet. He should be here..."

"I think I just saw him," Clarence replied, and then looked around. He knew that she'd leave at any time. "Hey, my mum-"

But Odale was already gone.

* * *

"Marcia!" Odale called.

Marcia turned around. "Odale?" she said. "I thought you'd have-"

"-Have you seen Septimus?" Odale interrupted her.

"No," Marcia said. "Haven't you?"

Odale shook her head. "No one has," she replied. "At least no one I asked."

Marcia frowned. "Would you get him for me?" she asked. Odale stretched her arms up, yawned.

"Sure," she said. "Already on my way. Unless you think that I'm going to be kidnapped..."

Her aunt sighed. "Odale, please," she said. "Go find him. If you don't, don't go looking for him further. Get back here, then."

Odale nodded her head, and walked off.

* * *

She, instead of watching her surroundings as she usually did, hurried along the Wizard Way and then made a turn, not knowing she was watched. Odale quickly navigated through the narrow alleyways and paths and quickly found her way to the Snake Slipway. Not too long ago, she and Septimus had had to run back and forth from the Snake Slipway, inorder to get the pieces to Marcia's Shadow Safe. So, she easily found it.

The small street was completely quiet, and only the wind was heard. It was also darke. Which was, in Odale's opinion, strange. If Septimus was there, wouldn't there be at least one light? She sighed, and jumped up to see if she perhaps could see a figure through the windows. She couldn't. Instead, she went to knock on the door.

Odale knocked sharply three times. No one answered. Three times again. Still no one. She sighed again, more frustrated. Roughly, she put a hand on the handle of the door and yanked it hard. It wouldn't open, either. Odale went back to the window, to see if it could be pushed open.

"Of course," she muttered, as she found out it couldn't. _Of course_.

She turned on her heel, and begun walking back to the Tower. After all, Marcia had told her to and she didn't want to disobey. Not when she finally had let Odale go alone, without talk.

But as she pushed into the alley, someone spoke. "I have been looking all over for you," it said and she froze. She'd recognize that voice anywhere.

Instinctively, she prepared herself to hurl at him, but then Odale felt someone grab her by the neck. "Hey!" she called out, as she turned around and tried to step the person on their foot. Odale didn't hit any foot, and she felt someone put rough ropes around her wrists. She felt that odd surge in her gut, and she knew that she had no Magyk.

She cursed. "What a vulgar language," Alexander Pullman said. "What would your aunt say?"

He held her still, and turned her around. Odale spat at him, and felt herself crash onto the ground. He'd hit her. "Wench," he growled. "Keep bloody still..."

"Let me go!" Odale yelled at him.

Pullman laughed, shook his head. "You should thank me, by the way," he said. "For not telling the leaders who you are by them. They would have been _livid_."

She spat at him again. Pullman stopped laughing, and all of a sudden he looked very grim. He grabbed the rope and pulled her to her feet, holding her in an iron-grip. Odale struggled, attempted to kick his shin. "You-" he didn't finish the sentence. Odale looked up and something warm hit her in the face. She gasped.

Someone had ran a long, thin sword through Pullman's throat. Pullman stumbled, and fell on her. Once again, Odale crashed and she could do nothing to stop the fall. She fell face first, scratching her cheek. A man pushed Pullman of off her, lifted her up and helped her off with the ropes. "Odale!" in the darke, Odale wasn't sure of who it was. "You shouldn't be out like this alone. What were you thinking?"

"Septimus-"

"I don't care," someone put a hand to her cheek. "Look at me. Do you know what he could have done to you?"

Odale looked at him. "Dad?" she asked.

"Rodrian," he answered. Of course. Her father was dead. Like Pullman. She looked down at his body, trembled. It was long ago she'd seen anyone die so brutally. With a blade through their throat, spitting blood.

Rodrian pulled the long sword from Pullman's neck. Odale watched it, not knowing what to think or feel. He noticed her, and put a hand on her back. "Are you alright, Odale?" he asked her softly. As if she was just his niece. As if she was just any girl.

She nodded. "Yes," she said.

Her uncle didn't look certain. "I'll take you back to the Wizard Tower," he told her. "Make sure you get there safely. And into bed. Do you know how late it is?"

Odale smiled feebly. According to Rodrian, she was just like any other girl her age, and she liked it. "But what about the body?" she asked. Rodrian looked down, too.

"Let it be," he said shortly. "Come on."

* * *

Still holding a hand on her shoulders, Rodrian took her back to the Wizard Tower. Odale whispered the password to the big doors, which opened for them. "I'll take you back to Marcia," Rodrian told her.

Odale nodded.

* * *

It barely took seconds for Marcia to open the door. "Odale!" she exclaimed. "My goodness, what happened?"

"Pullman," Odale walked in. "He attacked me. Rodrian saved me."

"Wasn't Pullman dead?" Marcia asked.

"He is now," Rodrian mumbled. Marcia gave him an angry glare.

Odale shook her head. "Mum killed Flarthy," Odale said. "Pullman... well, in whatever case, both of them are dead now."

"Good," Marcia replied. "And Septimus..?"

"Didn't find him," Odale said. "Maybe he's down there, in the Alchemy-place but I didn't see him. No one answered the door, either."

Marcia bit her lip. "I'll go find him," she replied. "And Odale... you stay here. I shouldn't have let you out at all, it was stupid of me."

"Do you want me to go with you, Marcia?" Rodrian asked. Marcia seemed to hesitate, but she saw Odale nod.

She groaned. "Fine," she replied. "Just don't... do anything stupid, alright?"

Rodrian smiled at her. "Also," Marcia added. "Clean up, Odale. Alright?"

"No, Marcia, I was planning on going around with bloodstains all the time," Odale replied, rolling her eyes. "I thought blood could be my new look."

Marcia gritted her teeth. "Seeing where you grew up, I wouldn't have been surprised," she replied tartly. She turned to Rodrian. "Shall we go?"

His smile, Marcia thought, was horrifically annoying. "Yes," he said.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: If Home Is Where The Heart Is

* * *

The next morning, Odale woke up. She didn't want to wake up, instead she just pushed her head into her pillow. Still, the sun shone onto her face and she couldn't sleep. Odale sighed, and sat up, stretching.

Marcia had came back with Septimus late the previous night. "What about the body?" Odale had asked. Marcia had, shortly, said that it was 'taken care of'. Most likely, Odale thought, it was Rodrian who had taken care of it. He seemed to know how to.

"Odale?" Marcia knocked on her door. "Wake up."

Odale patted Indigo on the head, before rising up. "I'm already up," she told Marcia.

"Good," Marcia said. "Then get up."

Quickly, Odale grabbed her apprentice-tunic and pulled it over her head and opened the door. "See," she said. "Not sleeping. Not in bed. Happy?"

"Well, you could always brush your hair," Marcia replied. "When Septimus wakes up, you could always tell him what we've done this past month so he doesn't fall behind. Okay?"

"Why don't you wake him up?" Odale asked, walking back into her room to find her brush.

"Odale, he's been looked down under the earth with that hideous alchemist for a month. Don't you think he deserves some rest?" Marcia answered with a little smile, that was a bit unlike her.

Odale crossed her arms, murmuring something lowly to herself. "I'll go clean up the Library," Odale replied, once again stretching her arms up.

"Of course," Marcia said. "And Odale, by the way, someone left a note for you. It's on the kitchen table, if you'd like to get it."

"Oh," Odale sighed. It was, most likely, Rodrian. Or her mother. Probably her mother... Even though Marcia was a bit too secretive, Odale thought, and seemed to be in a good mood. Probably because Septimus was back. Marcia had, even though Odale knew she'd never admit it, been worried. About what, she wasn't sure. Maybe that he wouldn't come back? Maybe that he wouldn't _want _to come back?

On the way to the kitchen, she quickly brushed her hair and put it up, so it wouldn't be in her way. Inside the kitchen, there was a letter on the table. Quickly, Odale put the brush down and put the little letter up. It was plain, of yellow-tinted paper. Someone had quickly scribbled a short message.

_My mum asked me to give this to you / Clarence_

Odale ripped the little letter open and a colorful note fell out. She read it.

_Dear Othael, _it read and Odale grimaced. They had spelled her name wrong. _We welcome you to_

"Our EasternSnowplainian meet-up," Odale read aloud, almost shouted so that Marcia would hear. "What is this?"

"What the note says," Marcia came into the kitchen. "Don't you want to go?"

She grimaced, again. "I don't know, Marcia," Odale replied, looking at the colourful note. "What am I to do there?"

"For starters," Marcia begun, "They have some sort of youth club. Maybe-"

Odale dropped the paper as if it was a hot potato, turned her back on Marcia. "I have way too much work I need to do," Odale snapped. "Besides, what should I do there? Nothing of importance, I guess."

"Odale," Marcia's voice was stern. "You're not going to be my apprentice forever. If you keep pushing people away you'll have no one th-"

Frustrated, Odale pushed past Marcia. It felt as if some kind of a cold pit was forming inside of her gut, and she hated Marcia for making it grow more. For about as long as she'd been Marcia's apprentice, the pit had been there. Sometimes it shrunk, sometimes it grew. And it had been growing a lot lately, and Odale hated it. She couldn't understand why it was there, what it wanted her.

Odale rushed back into her bedroom, closed the door after her. Her mind was racing wildly, she shouldn't have reacted like that. It wasn't Marcia who had left the note, Clarence only did as his mother had said, and his mother didn't even know her... Odale closed her eyes. It still hurt.

The big thing was that it just _wasn't her_. Her mother and sister kept talking about the Snowplains as if it was home, which it was to them, but Odale knew nothing of it. It only haunted her, since it was something she _could _have had had her mother not left her in the snow. Had her father not been murdered, had her... Odale wrapped her arms around her legs. "Stop it, silly," Odale mumbled. "Stop it, stop it, stop it..."

Maybe it wasn't a horrific idea after all, that youth meeting.

Someone knocked on her door. "I'm sorry, Marcia," Odale called, and only then realized that her voice trembled. Embarrassed, she cleared her throat. "Come in."

"It's just me," Septimus walked in. "Hey, you look upset."

Odale hadn't noticed that tears had been welling up in her eyes. Quickly, she wiped them away. "It's just dust," she told him. "From... the Library."

Septimus nodded, but Odale understood that he didn't believe her. Still, he begun talking to her as if it was nothing. And it was then that Odale understood why she felt so odd, why she'd wanted to cry. Odale was, more or less, homeless.

* * *

Rodrian looked at Runa, as she was sleeping. She'd done that a lot lately, but he supposed it was hormones. Or something. He didn't exactly know. In whichever case, Runa looked calm when she slept. Completely relaxed, which was a big change from when she was awake, and it calmed Rodrian.

In his life, Rodrian had never exactly _wanted_ a family. No children, and absolutely not a partner. He simply wasn't interested. Instead, he'd devoted his life to some sort of vengeance campaign which he, far too late, realized was to no use. He'd married Runa, not out of love or anything of the sort, but instead because a rebel had to have a spouse to really become influential. Which Rodrian had aspired to be.

And then, Lorea had come along. Lorea, who looked like his brother, father and mother, all of them at the same time. But she also looked like the Emperor, and his daughter, who Rodrian had marked the enemy. For a start, he'd marked Lorea the enemy too, which he now didn't understand. How could he have hated her? Not only did Lorea look like his family, she had a beautiful personality, too, and was intelligent. At least in his mind.

Rodrian had completely stopped his vendetta. Instead, he was completely focused on his niece. His _new _family. And now, he was going to have a child, too, with Runa being the mother.

He hadn't known he could be that worried before, and the closer Runa and the child came to the due date the more anxious Rodrian became. Rodrian knew he wasn't a big father figure, despite raising Lorea.

"Runa," Rodrian said softly. "It's time to wake up."

"_En minut till_," he heard Runa mumble and he sighed. She said that very often, but Rodrian had no idea what it meant.

* * *

"Marcia," Odale said, quietly opening the door to Marcia's study. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," Marcia replied, not looking up from her work. Odale didn't like the tone her voice had. It wasn't angry or mean, maybe, but awfully distant. She felt that pit grow bigger again. "What is it?"

Odale sat down in front of Marcia, without saying much. "Odale, for goodness sake, whatever's on your mind?" Marcia said, looking up at her.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," Odale replied hastily. "I didn't mean to be that angry. And, besides, maybe you're right. Maybe I _should _go."

Marcia raised her eyebrows. "Honestly?" she asked, not in a sarcastic way. Odale tried to smile a little, but it didn't go very well for her.

"Mhm," Odale answered. "Also, maybe I could-"

"Yes, you can get time off, Odale," Marcia said, quickly signing a paper that she was looking at and putting it away. "But _only _two hours. Understood? And do eat lunch when you're with your mother."

"And I can go there alone?" Odale smiled.

Marcia rolled her eyes. "It's in the middle of the day," she told Odale. "And light, not a cloud in sight. People would see, so I don't think anyone would do anything."

Odale rose to her feet, and managed to give a real smile. Marcia stopped her. "Odale, wait," she said. And then, she did something that Odale was very, very surprised by. She gave Odale a hug. Not knowing how to respond, Odale just stood there for a few seconds until Marcia let her go. She smiled, and walked out. "See you after lunch!" Odale called, as she rushed out.

* * *

Jerome finally saw the girl, hurrying out of the Great Arch. He watched her walk, and quickly remembered why he'd come there in the first place. Revenge. It wasn't fair that some... little girl had beat his brother, it wasn't okay. And meanwhile his brother didn't seem to care so much about it, Jerome did. Jerome always did.

He jumped from the box he'd been sitting on, to follow her. Jerome watched the girl, walking into an alleyway, and that was when he struck. As quickly as a snake, he kicked the back of her knee, and she fell.

Despite it probably hurting, the girl rolled to her back and looked him in the eye. "You again!" she growled, and it was followed by a swear which Jerome didn't know what it meant. "For f-"

Jerome quickly clasped the chains around the girl's wrists, and watched her turn deathly pale. It didn't stop her from trying to kick him, aiming at her gut and knees, but he moved so that it wasn't possible. He quickly aimed a Spell at the girl, and she fell asleep.

* * *

Little, Cashmére thought, was alright, but Little still frightened her and she wished her daughter would come and pick Little up. Still, she could manage the little girl and her cold fingers, which she sometimes tried to stick into Cashmére palm.

The small myling didn't eat a lot, and sometimes Cashmére caught her eating small birds and mice. Which maybe didn't do much harm, but if someone ever tried to make it human, it would be so much harder to make a wild one human.

Cashmére sighed, as she watched Little play with a piece of wood she'd found by the fireplace. As if it was a doll. Maybe Cashmére should give the child a real toy? Maybe it would make the humanization go quicker.

Someone knocked on her door, in a manner that Cashmére only knew one person who could. Marcia. She sighed, but was still feeling anxious. Lorea was out with her friend, Colum or Dextus or whatever he preferred to be called and she was alone. With the myling. "Little, go back in my room," Cashmére said. Marcia shouldn't see her.

Then, Cashmére opened the door. "Cashmére!" Marcia exclaimed, at once. "Where's Odale? I need her back at the tower. At once."

"Odale?" Cashmére asked quizzically. "I haven't seen her today. Is she... did she say she was going here?"

Marcia nodded. "She did," Marcia said. "Oh no, she's gone. I'll..."

Cashmére noticed how worried Marcia looked. "Marcia..." Cashmére said, "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Marcia shook her head. "No," she replied. "But I do have to go and find Odale."

And then, Cashmére walked away.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: No Way Out

* * *

Her head hurt. That was her first thought. She groaned, sat up rubbing her head. Where was she? Odale's first thought was the Observatorium, DomDaniel's old lair, since it was so dark and damp. Perhaps Pullman had had a companion. Perhaps...

No. The place rocked far too much to be the Observatorium. It was also dark. Odale, trying to get some light, snapped her fingers. Nothing happened. Her heart begun beating very hard, she bit her lip and swore. Why hadn't it worked? Insisting on keeping calm, Odale took a deep breath. From memory, she begun mumbling the original Spell. When she was done, she shut her eyes. She didn't want to see the result.

Odale felt a light sizzling in the air, then a _pang _in her hands. It was a sharp pain, and she quickly shut her hands. Carefully, she opened her eyes. Still nothing, and Odale cursed again. Looking down on her hands, she could see two bands of cold metal around her wrists. There was no link, no seam on them, and no key hole. They, Odale thought, was most likely the reason why her Magyk didn't work. The feeling they gave her was the same feeling that the ropes Pullman had pulled around her wrists.

She knew how to ropes worked. The metal bands, they had to work the same way. But she couldn't stay where she was standing.

Once Odale had become resigned to the light, she could make out some of her surroundings. The walls were stacked with big boxes, probably making the area appear smaller than what it was. There was a big door in front of her, with bars covering a small window which let in some light. Odale herself thought she was standing in some sort of room for the cargo, except it was very secure. Most likely, Odale thought, she was on a boat, judging by the rocking and the water leaking. Water leaking...

Odale looked to the wall behind her, pulled her hand over it. If it was salt water... Darke Magyk had a habit of, at least momentarily, not working in salt water. That was why some Darke witches melted in salt water, and why necromancers and other Darke people preferred not to be close to it. Odale could, probably quite easily, drench the bands in salt water. If they then would stop working... It was only a theory, though, Odale thought. She'd have to try... Later.

Someone was pounding on the door, and Odale didn't feel like finding out who it was. Yet. To find a route of escape, Odale looked around. The boxes covering the wall, she thought, had spaces between them. Maybe they were a bit too tight, but if she really squeezed herself into them, then maybe she could hide.

There was no time to find something better, instead Odale rushed towards the boxes, pushing herself into the small area that was between. Panicking, she pushed herself all the way into the wall and sat down there. Her heart had begun beating like a little drum. She hoped that no one would hear it. "Where are you, kitty-cat?" a boy said. Odale recognized the voice, it was the same boy that had attacked her earlier. The boy said something in a foreign language, and by the tone of it she could tell it was a swear. At the end of the small space she was in, she could see a light.

Odale'd like to shut her eyes, but couldn't. She just stared. The boy looked briefly into her small area, but didn't see her. He'd probably thought that it was too small to push into.

She could see the warm, red light going back-and-forth and guessed it was a torch, not Magyk. "Come on!" the boy shouted out. "I'll make it worse if you don't go out here. Right now."

Odale didn't move an inch. Instead, she pushed tighter against the wall. That wall, too, was wet. Even more than the other one, she could even feel the water roll over her back. Afraid that she would be heard, Odale put a finger on the wall and then tasted the water. It was salt. Her chest was about to burst with joy, but she was afraid that he would hear her.

Quietly, Odale turned around and let the water flow over her wrist. She closed her eyes, and counted. _One, two, three, four... _she heard steps, coming from behind the door. They were heavy. _Five, six, seven, eight... _Someone fiddled with a key, she heard the clinging of metal against metal. _Nine, ten, eleven, twelve... _The door was opened. _Thirteen..._ Odale felt an odd jolt, and she bit her tongue trying not to yelp. "_Light_," she whispered into her cupped hands. A small orb of light appeared in her hands. Her Magyk worked.

She quickly put it out, and instead whispered a spell of invisibility. Odale quickly rose. It was time to find a way out.

* * *

Septimus had, actually, been looking forward towards being Marcia's apprentice again, despite missing being Marcellus's. Though he hadn't expected that Odale, just after briefly talking to him, would be _gone_. Not only that, but Marcia was awfully anxious, too. She'd asked people all day, looked at all the thinkable places in the Wizard tower... even the sixth floor. "Have you looked in the Port?" Septimus finally suggested.

Marcia shook her head. She was pale. "No, I haven't had the time," she mumbled. "I just... she wasn't even upset when she left! Why would she do this?"

"Maybe something happened along the way?" Septimus offered. "And then she went to be angry for a little while, and she will come back tonight."

His tutor sighed, shook her head. "Something just isn't right," Marcia said. "She should be back. If someone else would make her angry, then..."

Marcia's voice trailed of. "Keep calm," Septimus told her. "Even if it was something, Odale would make it. She usually does."

* * *

Odale wasn't sure she'd make it out. The door was locked, wouldn't budge, and she'd tried about every Spell she knew that wouldn't cause too much noise. It was useless. Frustrated, Odale kicked a big box.

There was nothing happening. She was stuck. The boy, after looking after her, threatening her and cursing, had went away. He, Odale thought, wasn't as smart as he'd first seemed. At the same time, if he'd captured her, what'd that make her? Well, at least she'd gotten rid of the wristbands. She'd hurried to take them off, and then pushed them in underneath the big box.

In that moment, Odale wished she had a clock. Or perhaps a small window which she could see out from. The window would be preferable. Very much so. But, of course, there was none. She didn't dare to gaze out the small, barred one on the door in the fear that someone would see her. If they would... Odale looked up. Her heart skipped a beat.

It was her solution. Her escape. A vent. It was, most definitely, big enough for her to crawl through. The catch? It was in the ceiling. But, Odale thought, she could push through. Odale _knew _she could.

She scanned the room for a ladder. There was none. At least none that Odale could see. She cursed under her breath. What else could she do? She returned to the shadows behind the boxes to think. Odale sat there for hours.

* * *

That night, Cashmére couldn't sleep. She tossed herself from side to side, but couldn't be laid to rest. Marcia'd said that Odale was gone, and had been the whole day. Staring up in the ceiling, she tried to tell herself it wasn't so bad. Odale was probably on a bad mood. Yes. That was had probably made her daughter cross. She'd slipped away for awhile. It was typical Odale-behaviour. Cashmére tried to smile to herself, but didn't quite manage to do it. Instead, she burst into tears.

A few months ago, Cashmére perhaps wouldn't even have noticed. It most certainly wouldn't have bothered her so much, but with all these other girl ending up murdered... Cashmére shivered. It felt as if she'd found one daughter, and then lost the other one. She cursed. Nothing ever went well for her.

* * *

Odale was thinking about the same thing, as she tried to clamber the big boxes. Fortunately for her, the boxes were put so that they all reached the ceiling. But the sides of the boxes were hard and not very good for climbing on.

Her hands were bloody and covered with splinters. Odale didn't care. Once again, she put her hands and feet on the side and climbed. In reality, she wanted to give up, fall down and fall asleep. But she couldn't. She had no idea what that boy would do to her if he found her.

To her big surprise, she finally pushed herself over the top of the biggest box. She laid there on the box for a moment, catching her breath. Then, she rose. The vent was almost within her reach. Almost. She watched it, trying to figure out how on earth to open it. Could she do it by Magyk? It was worth a try, she thought, as she stretched out her hand and pointed at the hatch covering the vent. "**Open!**" Odale demanded.

The hatch flew open with a sharp _pang_. Odale smiled. Now, it was only a matter of _reaching _it. She thought hard. She watched the hatch, slowly swinging back and forth, while it squeaked. Most likely, no one had ever oiled it's hinges. _Swinging..._ Odale bit her lip. Perhaps she had another idea.

Once again, Odale pointed her hand at the hatch. Focusing hard, she made the metal hatch turn into a metal hatch. It was still swinging from the Magykal force, and only a few feet from Odale. She leapt, grasping the ladder hard in her hands. It was then, she heard him approach. She stopped dead. If he caught her there... The fall would be well over ten feet, perhaps fifteen feet.

With renewed energy, Odale practically ran up the ladder and then, once in the vent, reversed the Spell. She shut the vent tightly behind her, praying he hadn't heard. "Little girl?" the boy was back. "I heard you did something. I know you're here..."

She kept completely still.

* * *

Jerome couldn't see her anywhere, and wondered if she was even there. Perhaps the sound had been rats, he thought, despite knowing that it wasn't rats. It _was _the girl.

In that moment, he regretted taking her onboard the ship. He'd only wanted vengeance, for her fighting Jerome and his brother. His brother, Alistair, hadn't seemed interested in doing anything. So, Jerome had taken matters into his own hands. And now regretted it. Great. He looked around, again. "Come on out, you witch!" he yelled. He didn't feel comfortable using that language, but it seemed to be the one she used.

No sound, no movement. Nothing. "You won't get out this way," he growled. "Come on!"

Still nothing. He growled angrily, kicked a box, and went out to get Alistair. Alistair would know what to do.

Odale heard the door slam shut. She sighed with relief. He was gone. She looked up. The space she was in was a long, narrow tunnel, about twice as wide as her. It went upwards for about five feet, Odale estimated, and then it bent. Putting her feet on either side of the tunnel, she started to climb. Her hands, legs and feet protested, but Odale didn't stop.

When she well had reached the vertical part of the tunnel, Odale was exhausted. She laid down flat on her belly, breathing hard. At least she was away from that horrible boy. Her hands bled furiously, she noticed, and she'd left a small trail from half the tunnel up. She clasped her bloodied hands together and fell asleep.

* * *

It was early in the morning, and Zamir was already up. He washed himself, put his clothes on. Orianne, his new tutor, had told him that he could sleep a little longer than usual. She'd told him that he was a teen, he needed it, and then that she had to go to her son's school. Because whatever reason, Zamir wasn't exactly sure. He'd never attended a real school.

Zamir, careful not to show the cursed skin, put his eyepatch on. He'd finally found a new one, after the previous one getting lost on sea. He still regretted coming with, but only a little.

The new one, though, he thought looked better. The other one had been deep blue, with a pale-white star covering it. The new one was black, with a gold-lining. But he knew he shouldn't be picky. He was far luckier than most Cursed people, especially people who happened to have the same Curse as him and the eyepatches were hard to get by. It was much more likely that the merchant you asked would try to push a fake Fatima's Hand on you, or perhaps a lucky charm. If they didn't have you lynched, or arrested. Or perhaps even have you sold as a slave, to a circus or perhaps a necromancer, or anyone else that thought you could be useful.

That didn't happen much in the Castle, Zamir knew that, but about everywhere else he had been. In the Castle, people didn't even seem aware. It just seemed like they thought he'd lost his eye. Maybe they even did, Zamir didn't know. Still, he finally felt accepted.

And when Marcia, instead of putting him in exile for knowing that Merrin had the Two-Faced ring, or worse, had given him an apprentice ship to one of the ordinary wizards, Zamir had cried. It was better than anything he'd hoped for.

He thought of that, as he begun walking down to the Ramblings.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: New Friends

* * *

Odale woke up, with blood smeared on her clothes. She grimaced. For a short moment, she didn't realize where she was. Again. She crawled up, into a small ball. Tunnel. Pretty large. She knew where she were.

Groaning, Odale rose. The Tunnel was then big enough for her to stand in. Maybe, she thought, it wasn't a vent, but an escape tunnel. She could not, however, figure out why anyone would put a prisoner of some sort in a room with said tunnel. It went straight for a while, until it split into two. For a short moment, Odale stopped and stared. Which way? She wasn't sure. Up, she thought, would most likely lead out on deck. Perhaps she could see where she was then. Maybe even, with luck, get off the boat. With that in mind, Odale hurried up the tunnel. It looked strange, she noted, since it was made of wood. Figures, strange figures, was carved into the wood and then painted. Her finger traced on of them. A ram.

Odale's hand recoiled from it. She had a vague memory of Rodrian telling him that the ram was the rebel's symbol. Was that where she was? A rebel's ship? She shudered. Rodrian had not only told her who they were, but also what they did. Or what they could do. Odale shivered. It made her want to be captured less and less.

* * *

"Where is she?" Marcia growled angrily. "I want her home, _today._"

Rodrian rose. "Marcia?" he said, clearly confused. "Who? How did you know where I live?"

Marcia trembled. "You gave me your address, remember?" she told him. "Now, where is she?"

"Who?" Rodrian looked as confused as Marcia felt, and Marcia didn't want to look directly at him. "Marcia, what's wrong?"

She looked away, into the wall beside them. "Odale's gone," she mumbled. "I don't know where she went... But you do, don't you?"

"Marcia," Rodrian said, looking around nervously. "Come inside. It seems as if you need a talk, and perhaps something hot to drink."

For once, his sister didn't snarl at him, nor did she snap. Instead she, to his great surprise, walk into the room. The room, Rodrian knew, wasn't much of a _home _perhaps, but it was just a rented room after all.

Runa, who sat in an armchair, looked up. She looked to Marcia and then to Rodrian, looking very confused. With some issue, she rose. "Hello..." she said, and Rodrian could tell she didn't know who it was. It didn't matter, though.

"Hello, Runa," Marcia replied. Rodrian lifted a bag from an armchair.

"You can sit here, Marcia," he said. "And for goodness sake, Runa, sit down again. There's no reason to stand."

* * *

"Sir," a voice in a very heavy accent said, and Odale froze. "Sir, I said this. I told you. Few Overstrand's would ever listen, less would say yes. They're proud, and in her position, I can imagine that madam Overstrand is ever prouder..."

They were talking about Marcia. Odale sat down, listened closely. The voices came from a small, black hatch. "Not my idea," the another voice replied. "I'm only here because Eridiah is too old, and Hassar is far too young and has no experience."

"Then why did you come, Aldo?" the first voice dropped the courtesies, and now spoke angrily. "This- this was useless? What have we gained?"

"Brother," the second voice, Aldo, replied calmly. "Please. Don't you see? We've intimidated her. We've come close, seen her eye to eye. Our soldiers have been within their walls. Do you think that anyone will dare to join the side opposing us?"

"Why, seeing as the opposing side has more than twice the amount of soldiers we have, twice the resources and more than twice the land..." there was poison in the first voice. "You are a fool. You are all _fools._"

"Then why don't you leave?" Aldo snapped. Odale heard a door slam shut, and she gasped.

"Who's there!?" the remaining voice, Aldo, growled. Carefully, Odale rose. She quickly hurried on.

* * *

At the end of the tunnel, there was a staircase downwards. Since she saw no other way, Odale went down the narrow staircase. She was met by a door, which she could not push open. It took a while for her to realize that it should be pushed _aside_, not pushed up. Carefully listening so that there was no one on the other side, Odale pushed it open- and found herself somewhere very non-exciting. In a closet.

There were, she noted, not even any exciting clothes. Only, gray, gray and gray. They all seemed to be women's clothes, too, and on hooks beside her there were orange bands. Servants clothes? Odale hesitated. Perhaps, she thought, they could be a good disguise. She could easily pull one over her robes, no one would notice as the clothes were all loose...

Quickly, she snatched one of the ones who seemed to fit her and pulled it over her head and grabbed one of the orange bands. Not being entirely sure of what to do with it, she pulled it around her hair, pushing the hair out of her face.

Odale opened the closet door.

* * *

Marcia was clutching a now-cold cup of tea in her hands. She should get back to Septimus, see how it was going for him with the de-cyphering. It was an important part of the apprentice-education. But she didn't even manage to stand up. "Marcia," Rodrian said softly. "With all respect... perhaps you should leave. I'm sure you're very busy."

She nodded. Once he'd pointed it out, she couldn't stay any longer. Marcia rose from the arm-chair, carefully putting the cup aside. Rodrian gave her a brief hug. "Marcia," he said again, and she turned her head. "Just remember... teens are scary. Okay?"

She smiled feebly. "I know," she said.

* * *

She found herself in a kitchen, which was burning hot. Odale saw many women, dressed the same way as she was, many with their children nearby. Dumbstruck, she stood there for a few seconds.

A tall woman with hair yellow as corn knocked her on the shoulder. "_Voitko autta minua_?" she asked, but there was something sharp in the voice. Odale shrugged, to show that she didn't understand. The woman sighed, annoyed, dragged Odale with her. "_Tule mukaani!_"

Was she in trouble? Odale didn't know. She couldn't possibly understand.

The woman led Odale into another corridor. _Great_, she thought. _When I get out of here, I'll most likely have claustrophobia... _

They came to a big door. It was shining red, with a brass door knocker. It, too, was in the shape of a ram. Odale shivered. It seemed to stare into her soul. The woman, however, didn't seem to care. She opened the door, shooing Odale inside. "Ilma," someone said. Odale stopped, and stared. It was the same man that had spoken before, Aldo. She didn't know if he greeted them, or if he said the woman's name.

He looked very different from what she'd imagined. Aldo was tall, and remarkably skinny. He had a wizard's eyes, and red, curly hair. Odale tried not to stare.

Aldo gestured at her, said something to the woman. He looked a bit surprised, with raised eyebrows. As a reply, the woman shrugged and said something very short. "Hm," Aldo looked at her. "You speak Castellan, then, girl?" he asked.

Panicking, Odale gestured at her throat, attempting to imply that she was mute. He nodded. "But you understand what I say, yes?" he followed up.

Odale nodded. "Good," the man said. "And you understand why you're here?"

Once again, she nodded. Odale wasn't sure, but she guessed she'd figure it out. "Clean," Aldo told her. For the third time, she nodded.

* * *

Lorea leant back against the wall. She took a few shaking, deep breaths. Dextus looked at her, and they both laughed. Perhaps, she thought, she should call him Colum. That was, after all, his given name.

She looked him in the eyes, he looked back. His eyes, meanwhile they perhaps weren't beautiful, bored into her, seeing every curve and watching every crevice of her soul. Shortly, he made her heart race, as if she was scared. "You like living dangerously, don't you?" Dextus asked her, with a wry smile.

"Oh, come one," Lorea replied. "It's like you said. He deserved it."

In her hands, she clutched their trophy: a staff of ivory and gold. It had belonged to a rebel.

Dextus was still smirking. "What monster have I turned you into?" he wondered, with a fake guilt, putting his wrist to his forehead.

"Oh, har har," Lorea rolled her eyes. "How many times have you done this, again?"

"Billions," Dextus replied proudly. "Since I was twelve."

Rodrian would've condemned it, Lorea knew that much. She also knew that it was a stupid, and incredibly dangerous game to play. Still, the game and Dextus made her heart beat like a tiny drum, her cheeks flush red, and how could she say no to that? Dextus grabbed her hand, not too harshly. "Come on," he said. "I'll take you home."

They begun walking in the general direction of where Lorea's mother lived. The pair walked slowly, talking as they often did. Dextus spoke of his childhood, memories of her, and what it was like growing up without anyone. Lorea talked about growing up with Rodrian, and mentioned memories that Dextus could confirm or deny. At least some of them.

In a lot of ways, Lorea had longed for that. Someone who listened like he did. She'd never met anyone who did, before him. And now, there he was, with a constant smile on his lips, eyes that gleamed and he always wanted to talk. Always asked her things. Made her think. She smiled to herself.

* * *

"_Valmis!_" the woman said, and Odale for once understood. _Done_. Harshly, the woman grabbed the broom Odale was holding. She then left in a hurry. Odale turned around, to leave too, but Aldo grabbed her.

"Wait a second," he told her. "Girl, wait... I want you to stay for a short while."

The hair on Odale's neck rose. She looked away, shook her head. "No?" he grabbed her wrist roughly, causing her to gasp. "Sit down."

He pointed to a chair, and Odale understood that she had to sit down. Aldo sat down in front of her. She didn't feel fully comfortable sitting down infront of him, with only a desk separating them. Odale didn't know how powerful he was, but she imagined fairly since he seemed to have a high position. She looked down onto her lap. "You can talk now," Aldo said. She raised her eyebrows. How could he know..? "Oh, c'mon. Even acting mute, you seem to be a horrible liar. I can't imagine how bad you are while speaking."

She felt offended. Why did he know about her, her ability to lie? Odale saw herself as a fairly good liar. "It's funny," Aldo said. "How I've never seen you before. I know most of the people on this ship, I'm proud of it. And yet, I've never seen you before. How could this be?"

"I've been here for a long while," Odale insisted, finally starting to speak. Aldo snorted.

"Then who are you?" he asked her. "Who do you belong to? Mother, father, brother?"

"My father's here," Odale answered briefly.

Aldo narrowed his eyes. "I don't like lies," he told her. "Especially not when they come from pretty little girls. Now, honestly, who are you?"

Odale's mind raced, quickly trying to make up a lie. "I-I snuck onto the ship," she replied. Lie. "I want to go to the EasternSnowplains, I-"

"Who _are _you?" Aldo didn't look especially amused. She had to make up a name.

"I-I... My name's Cashmére," at once, Odale knew it was a bad pick. She'd panicked.

Aldo raised his eyebrows. "_Cashmére? _Truly? Like the Heiress?" he asked her.

Odale cursed herself. "Mm," she mumbled. "My dad is... was... well, a fan."

"Is he dead?" Aldo asked her. "Your father?"

She nodded in response. "Poor child," he said, without the least of sympathy in his voice. "Do you know how many people that has dead family? Hundred, thousands. You think it makes me sympathize?

Odale looked away. "Why do you care?" she asked him.

"Because I'd hate to see a pretty face go to waste," he answered.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Abandon Ship

* * *

He leant over her paper, watching her tiny words. "You have a horrible handwriting," he told her. "By the way, how would you pronounce that word?"

"Nekemin?" Odale looked up, used the hem of her skirt to stroke the ink of her hands. "Wouldn't it be?"

"_Näkemiin_," he corrected her, frowning. He shook his head. "_Näkemiin_, okay? And... how do you spell it, little _princessa_?"

Odale's cheek turned red. It was far from a friendly nickname, she rather felt degraded. It was since she'd lied about her name being Cashmére. But she couldn't change it then, make up a new lie. "N-A-K-E-M-I-N," she read out loud, leaning back into her chair. Aldo sighed with annoyance.

"Almost," he said. "N-Ä-K-E-M-I-I-N, it's spelled. Okay?"

"N..." Odale quickly wrote down what he'd said. "And how did you say it again?"

"_Näkemiin,_" he replied slowly. "What does the word mean, Cashmére?"

Odale had stopped being confused when he said her mother's name, instead of hers. "Goodbye," Odale said, "It means goodbye."

He nodded approvingly. "Finally, you've learned something," he patted her on the book, but his hand rested there and Odale shrugged it off. "We're done for today, and it's dinner soon. Go back to the room and get dressed."

"I am dressed," she retorted snappishly. If looks could kill, she would have fallen dead on the spot. Aldo rolled his eyes, groaning and muttered something in his own language.

"You know what I mean, girl," he told her. "Go now."

* * *

Little sat on the table, chewing an apple while Cashmére baked bread. Cashmére was happy that Little, finally, had turned to a more varied diet. It was always a plus that she'd stopped eating rats.

She also looked healthier, with plump lips and rosy cheeks. Her hair had finally been brushed, and Cashmére had braided the thin, pale hairs into a tight braid. "When is Laurine coming back?" Little said, took another bite out of the apple.

Cashmére pressed her lips together. "I don't know," she said, weakly. "Soon, I hope."

She gently folded the fish into the bread, hoping it would be alright and that it wouldn't burn. Cooking was something quite new to her, but she was learning, and for whatever reason she thought it was relaxing. Especially when Odale was gone, she thought, and put the bread in the oven.

Little yanked the hem of Cashmére's skirt, looking up at her with her pale face. "Can I have the head?" she asked, still yanking at the skirt.

The expression made Cashmére laugh, it was so quizzical. "What do we say when we want something?" Cashmére wondered. Little pursed her lips.

"Can I have the head, please?" Little answered, pouting. Cashmére hesitated. Treating Little well was the way to make her more and more human... The question was only if it was wrong or right to let her have the head.

"Please, have it," Cashmére finally said. She patted Little on the back, and Little didn't shrug back. It wasn't often she didn't, and it made Cashmére slightly happier.

Little put the whole thing in her mouth, and the bone crunched in Little's mouth. Cashmére wrinkled her nose in disgust, but didn't let Little see it. It wouldn't be kind to her... She felt two arms around her waist, and Cashmére blinked. "Oh," she mumbled, and once again put a hand to Little's back. She smiled a bit.

* * *

In all honesty, Odale had no idea why Aldo would attempt to take care of her. He had no idea who she was, what she did there, and Odale believed that if he did know who she was, he'd be acting a whole lot differently. But he tried to teach her his language, how to act, and no matter what his intentions were it was good for her. However, it made her suspicious that _so _interested in her, but she didn't dare ask. Would he, Odale thought, harm her if she did? The rebels were scary, and even after Rodrian had talked to her, she wasn't sure what they were capable off. And what they would do to her, if she seemed to be who she really was.

Odale sat down. "That's my daughter's dress," Aldo told her, and sat down in front of her. "You look a bit like her."

"Really?" she asked. Aldo nodded.

"Or..." he cut himself off, and his voice stuck in his throat, "Nevermind."

She knew that look he had on his face. Not because she knew him, but she knew people who'd been in pain. Odale looked down on her lap. "We're just waiting for another," he told her slowly. "Ixiro."

Odale nodded her head, and they entered an awkward silence. Aldo drummed his fingers on the table, and she noticed that his hand was horribly badly burnt once, the scarring was left. She could even see where his bones were, pretty clearly. He obviously saw her watch, and bit his lip. From his pocket, he pulled out a glove and put it over his hand. "Forgive me," he said.

"What did you do?" Odale asked. She was surprised that she had not noticed it before.

Aldo glanced into the corner. He sighed. "I failed to put out a fire," he told her.

"With your hand?" she questioned.

"I was desperate," he told her. A knock was heard on the door. Aldo rose, opened the door.

Odale saw brownish-red hair and a familiar face, and she rose, turning her back on him. Desperately, she looked for something to inspect closer, so that she had a reason to why she'd turned her back on them.

There was. On a small shelf, she could see a globe. It was shimmering slightly in blue and green, and she could see a glowing, red line. Odale could feel it omit warmth, and she wanted to touch it, but didn't dare to. Was it a map? She thought so. The red line went from what appeared to be the Castle, then further out, on a big ocean. It felt as if her gut was twisted by an outer force. On the map, the Castle looked so small. She wondered how far she was from home.

Aldo and the boy, it was the same boy that had attacked her, were discussing fiercely, but she didn't know what about since she did not understand the language. Odale twisted her hands, hoping the boy wouldn't recognize her.

He didn't, and at last he left.

Aldo turned back to her. "What are you looking at, little miss?" he asked her, curiously. Odale bit her lip.

"What is this?" she wondered, in return. He stood behind her, ran his finger over the globe. For a short while, he seemed to think.

"It's a map," he explained to her. "But not only. It shows where we went from, where we are and where we are going. See-"

He put a finger on the Castle, and then ran the finger along the red line. "-We came from the Castle, the little red dot here," he told her, "And the red line shows where we've gone. And here-"

Aldo's finger found a second dot, fairly close to the end of the line showing where they had went, "-Is where we are going. It's called the Blue Moon Harbor."

Odale's heart jumped when she understand really how far away she was from the Castle. She felt a bit ill. "When are we there?" she questioned. Aldo smiled, showing his small, yellow teeth.

"Soon," he told her. "The captain says tomorrow, even."

"Already?" Odale sat back down again. Aldo nodded.

A broad-shouldered, short woman entered the room. In her hands she held a tray, stuffed with food. She smiled at Odale, and Odale smiled back. "_Moi, _Aldo," the woman said, looking at Aldo.

"_Kiitos_," Aldo said shortly, but he smiled at her.

"_Ole hyvä_," the woman replied, but cast a curious glance at Odale again. Aldo saw the glance, and told her something, long. The woman nodded, still smiling at Odale. She patted a hand on Odale's shoulder, and Odale tried not to flinch. "Hello," she said, her pale blue eyes glistening.

"Hello," Odale replied. "My name's.. Cashmére."

"And I'm Sanya," the woman said, brushing a strand of spiky, blonde hair from her face. "It's lovely to see you, miss Cashmére. Do you have a last name, then, miss?"

"Aeris," Odale panicked, saying the one name she'd heard Clarence mention. "Cashmére Aeris."

* * *

They'd been out late again. Lorea knew that Cashmére never said anything, but still it didn't feel quite right about being out so late. Rodrian, Lorea knew, would never have let her. But Rodrian was a rebel. He had lied to her all of her life, and Lorea was still horrifically angered. She would never, ever do anything that he wanted in her life. Never, ever.

Dextus pulled her out of her thoughts by grabbing her by the arm. "Look!" he told her. "That café's still open. Would you care to go there with me?"

Lorea smiled. "Thank you, but no thank you," she said. "I should really go home..."

"Then I'll go with you," he told her. "C'mon."

He wrapped an arm around her waist, and Lorea smiled. But she felt unusually warm, and it was nice to have someone that close for once. Dextus held her like that, all the way back to her mother's apartment. There, they stopped. "Come with me inside," she told him softly. "My mother won't mind."

Dextus didn't look so sure. But he looked at her, with a smile. Lorea wasn't very certain, but she thought that she was smiling too. She looked to down to her feet. Her thick, snow boots almost looked misplaced in the thin layer of snow which laid on the ground. It was almost boring, how thin the snow was, and she didn't think it was cold enough. Her mother, however, had said that it soon would be spring... "Perhaps I should," he said stiffly, with another nervous smile. "You don't think this is going to make your mother mad, is it?"

Lorea laughed. "This is my mum, not Rod," she said. "Please, come in."

* * *

When Odale went to bed that night, she felt a growing pit of loneliness in her gut, which she couldn't shake of. She had, when she looked at the map, realized that she'd never felt that lost in all of her life. Her heart was heavy in her chest, as if someone had filled it with lead. Before, Odale had had no idea that she could miss something, or someone, that way.

She felt a tear roll down her cheek, and she hurriedly stroke it away. She'd loathe that anyone saw her cry, especially Aldo, who every now and then made uncalled visits into her room. Even though the word 'room' could be viewed as an exaggeration. It was barely a storage room, with a small bed, which Odale herself barely fit in and nothing could make her understand why Aldo had it at all.

There was a loud bang, similar to that of wood slamming against wood, and Odale sat up, pulling her blanket to her chin. She heard some loud shouts, then all there was was silence. Involuntarily, Odale shivered, and then rose to her feet. She opened the small door leading out, and peered into the darkness of the ship.

Her door was ripped open. Odale took a step backwards, seeing who it was. "Aldo?" she asked. "Is it you?"

"Yes," Aldo answered. "You have to get dressed. Quick."

He shut the door, and Odale dressed herself. She still hadn't gotten her tunic back from when he'd sent it to be washed, but her belt and her bracelet, which she'd both hidden in a small, water-proof bag, was under her bag. The skirt of her new dress was so wide, so she could easily hide the bag underneath it.

Once she'd managed to conceal the bag underneath her skirt, she considered herself done. She opened the door, and before she was able to speak Aldo grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her with him. "What's going on?" she wondered anxiously. "Is there something wrong?"

"I'm taking you to a life boat," Aldo explained, helping her down the stairs. "You need to get off."

"Why?"

Aldo stopped in his steps. "Don't question me, girl," he told her. "We've spotted soldier at shore. Loads of them, actually, and we do not want any trouble. Is that clear? Now come."

They stepped out on the upper deck, and upper deck was stuffed with people. Mainly it was children and young adults getting into the boats. As they walked, Odale saw a mother kiss her son goodbye, two brothers parting, and a man putting his sister in a boat. She felt bad for them, somehow, despite knowing that perhaps she shouldn't. There was so much she'd heard these people do. How on earth could she pity _them_?

"Here, sir, here," it was Ixiro, who'd they dined with earlier, talking to Aldo. "There's an empty seat here."

Aldo led her there. "So, Cashmére," he said. "Here, we part."

Odale got in the boat. "Aren't you going in the boat?" Ixiro asked, confused.

"No," Aldo replied. "Hassar did get into a boat, didn't he?"

Ixiro nodded. "Then there's no need for me to get into one." Aldo stated. He, finally, threw a distraught glance at Odale and pulled of his hooded cloak, handing it to her. "Should keep you warm enough."

She nodded as a thanks.

* * *

They kissed. Lorea had had a first kiss, back when she was twelve, with some boy she'd known and been friends with. Their friendship had ended very quickly afterwards, not to anyone's surprise, really. But she'd been twelve. What she felt now was different. What she felt now was more real than before, more... She couldn't truly name it.

Dextus pulled away. "How are you?" he asked her casually.

"Well," she told him carefully. "Good night."

* * *

**(A/N Also, it's Marcia's birthday.)**


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: New Acquaintances

* * *

Odale woke when she saw the shore come closer and closer. The last hour she'd been dozing off ever so slightly, but then she saw land her heart leapt. She had not expected to be so excited about coming to the Eastern Snowplains, but she was. _Like a little schoolgirl_, she thought to herself, a bit angry. _Get a hold on yourself, Odale! _

Straightening her back, she pushed her hair back into her hood. From her place by the edge of the small boat, she could see the shore very clearly despite it being far away. It was not, however, coated in ice, which Odale had expected. Instead, there were rocks. Odale looked up, and remembered that they were at the foot of a very impressive mountain. She'd never seen one before, the closes she'd ever gotten to one was the large cliffs and hills in the Badlands, where she'd lived until she was ten. "Never been here before, eh?" someone leant close to her ear and whispered. In her language. Grasping her cloak, she turned to see.

"You!" she breathed. It was the older boy who'd attacked her. Odale blinked, and couldn't say much more. Of course she'd be that misfortunate. Of course!

"What are you even doing here, Castlegirl?" he asked her lowly. Not knowing how to reply, she stayed silent. Instead, she looked to the shore. There were, she noted, trees sprouting out from the rocks, without leaves. They looked dumb there, like spikes which someone had empty-mindedly put there. "In the spring, these turn red and pink with flowers," the boy whispered, but how he knew what she was looking at she had no idea.

"What do you want from me?" Odale snapped, pulling away from him. The boy bared his teeth.

"Only trying to help," he said, and leant back. "My name is Alistair, by the way. And yours? We were never properly introduced."

Odale laughed, but not a kind laugh. She hoped she sounded cold. "Perhaps because you attacked me, _Alistair_," she said. "With your brother. Where is he?"

"Back on the ship," he nodded in the direction of the large ship, which had gone closer to the harbour. Odale felt her gut wrench when she thought about the soldiers waiting at the shore. Not because she cared about the rebels particularily, but she didn't want Aldo to suffer any. At least he'd been kind to her.

She pulled the cloak tighter around herself. "Why is he back on the ship, and you're here?" she asked. "He must be younger than you."

"I went because I'm a leader," Alistair told her. "Not because of any other reasons. Is that understood?"

She ignored him.

They were close to the shore. Two people jumped out, probably because they were going to moore the boat... or whatever. Odale didn't care so much.

The boat stopped. Everyone rose, so Odale did the same. Alistair grabbed her by the sleeve, and they walked off the boat. In any other situation, she would have hit him, Spelled him or something of the same kind, but she was surrounded by people who'd without a doubt overpower her.

Once off the boat, Alistair stepped up onto a large rock and begun to speak. He didn't do it in her language, 'Castelian' as most of them seemed to call it, but in his. She simply stood there awkwardly, as the people sorted themselves into groups from two to five people, and then all went in different directions. And all she did was stand there. "So," Alistair said. They were alone. "Now, we have to choose a direction."

"What?" Odale asked. He laughed.

"You didn't think I'd just leave you here, did you?" he smiled, and Odale pursed her lips. Who did he think she was?

"Why won't you?" she crossed her arms over her chest. Alistair rolled his eyes at her, as if he thought that she was acting childish.

"You're Overstrand's daughter," he said. "Of course I wouldn't leave you alone."

"I don't understand," she said. "What..? Who..?"

"Rodrian Overstrand," Alistair told her, slightly annoyed, it seemed as. "Or, that's what I've been told by others. Isn't this true?"

Odale jumped at the oppurtunity over the lie. "Yes," she nodded. "I am."

* * *

Cashmére sat up. She took a deep breath, stroke the sweat from her brow. Once again, she had had one of her nightmares and once again it had been Odale. 'I'm a rebel now, mother', the girl had said. 'Mother, you left me... mother... mother...'

For once, she hadn't screamed. It was so embarassing when she did, and Lorea always looked worried the entire day when she screamed. Cashmére wished she could stop herself, but she could never stop. It wasn't her fault.

She got dressed and rose. It was, she could tell by looking out, early in the morning. Still, she knew she'd never be able to go back to bed. She never could, despite having tried so many times. "Cashmére..." the voice made her stop.

"Joseph?" she asked. But she didn't want to greet him in a friendly way, he'd abandoned them for months. Perhaps she could get by not seeing him, but she wanted Odale to meet him as much as possible and Lorea... Lorea hadn't even seen him.

"Is it true?" Joseph wondered. "Is Odale really not here?"

"So, now you care?" she turned around, crossed her arms over her chest. "No, she's gone."

"Casmére," Joseph said angrily. "Don't you give me that. You don't know how hard it is to not be able to actually be here, how it is to not touch... drink, or eat!"

"What do you think it's like for Odale, then?!" Cashmére snapped. "What do you think it's like when you're gone all the time?"

Joseph was quiet. Cashmére saw him fade slightly, which he only did when he was angry or upset. She coldly turned her back on him, and walked out.

She stopped, and gasped. The man, there was a man laying on his couch, sat up, rubbed his eyes. He peered into the darkness, and she saw who it was. "Colum!" she exclaimed. "My goodness, you scared me! Did Lorea ask you to stay?"

Dextus stood up, nodded. "She did," he said. "But she's still asleep."

Cashmére who finally gathered strenght enought to smile did so. "Would you like some breakfast?" she asked him carefully. "Or are you already leaving?"

Dextus shook his head. "No, perhaps I'll stay for a little while," he said, with a small smile. "Talk to Lorea a little bit. If she wakes up in time."

"Were you up late last night, you and Lorea?" Cashmére was still smiling back at Lorea. "Did you have fun?"

"I suppose it was a little bit late," Dextus said apologetically. "But we did have fun. How was your night?"

Cashmére wasn't able to reply, since Joseph's ghost entered. "Who is this?" he asked at once, and Cashmére sighed with annoyance. And then she realized it. Joseph didn't know that Lorea was alive, he hadn't met her or seen her.

She pressed her lips together, not knowing how to deal with the situation. "Who _is _this?" Joseph repeated. "Cashmére, please."

"This... this is Colum, actually," Cashmére told Joseph.

Dextus stood up, stared into the darkness. "Who are you talking to?" Dextus asked. Cashmére looked down to her feet, then to Joseph.

"Joseph," Cashmére murmured apologetically. "It's Lorea's father."

Dextus looked, Cashmére could even see that in the darkness, surprised. She attempted to smile towards him again, but found that she couldn't. "Oh`" Dextus said. "I thought he was... you know, dead?"

"Oh, he is," Cashmére said, feeling a bit feeble. "It's his ghost."

"Ghost?" Cashmére understood Dextus's feeling. Until she came to the Castle, she too had never seen a ghost in the Eastern Snowplains. They were non existant there. Only old stories and fairy tales, but she had heard of haunted places. Places where fragments of people still lived on... but those were only rumors, anyways, and Cashmére had never noticed any anyways.

"They still exist in the Castle," she told him. "Many other places, too. Places which do not have the same issue as we do."

Dextus nodded quietly. "Still," Joseph insisted. "Who is the boy? Why is he here?"

She didn't like his tone, as if he was _entitled _to know. Cashmére pressed her lips together hard. "I said it," she retorted snapishly, "It's Colum. Colum Ramasotti."

Joseph's ghost flickered again. "_Who?_" he asked, not because he didn't know who it was, butrather because of the unlikelyness of the whole thing. "Why would he be here?"

"Joseph," Cashmére adopted a soft tone. "There's something I wish you knew. I really wish you'd heard it earlier, it's very... well, I know you'll love to hear it-"

"Cut it short," Joseph told her, sounding an awful lot like his sister. Cashmére wasn't sure she approved of that.

"It's Lorea," Cashmére said. "She's, well, here."

Joseph looked a bit disturbed. "What, her ghost?" he asked, and had an almost worried tone. Ghost children were often hard to deal with, impossible to soothe. They had a hard time dealing with their deaths. Not to mention that he didn't want to _see _Lorea's ghost, it was a pain he'd never want his daughter to experience. Besides, children's ghost's faded quickly. He'd hate to see her fade...

"No," Cashmére answered. "She's alive. I just found out... a few months ago."

If he'd had a heart, it would beat very quickly, Joseph thought. His daughter? Alive? He'd never, ever hoped that it would happen. "Where is she?" he pressed on.

"In Odale's room," Cashmére said. "But please, Joseph, don't wake her just yet. Besides, I should warn her before you two meet."

* * *

"Have you ever been here before?" Alistair inquired. "You don't speak the languages, at least, I've seen that."

Odale shook her head. The way he looked at her, talked to her still made her fairly uncomfortable. Now that they were alone she could perhaps overpower him, but in a way she needed him, as a guide. As he'd pointed out, she'd never been there or anywhere near there before and she didn't no the language at all. She was, she realized, as helpless as she'd been when her mother had left her in the snow to die.

They walked on a narrow path up the mountain. The spiky trees had grown fewer, and she could see the moon still, casting silverlight on the ocean. Their ship was closer to the harbour now, and she could imagine the soliders standing there, waiting for the ship to arrive... Not that she knew what Snowplainian soldiers looked like. She looked at Alistair. "Why did you not leave me?" she asked him. "You could just have well."

"I hope you're not flattering yourself with thinking that it's because I think you're _special _or any of that," he told her coolly. "The only reason why I took you is because I know my brother took you onto the ship."

"How did you-"

"He's my brother," Alistair snapped. "He told me, stupid girl. Even if he had not, I could have guessed it. What other businiss would you have on that ship?"

She turned her head, and looked up towards the mountain top. All of the mountain was coated in snow and ice, and Odale could barely see it; it hid as if shy behind the clouds and mist. It was stupid, she thought, to call it 'shy'. A mountain didn't possess any human feelings, and therefore couldn't be shy. Besides, even if it had feelings, it would be far from shy. With one wave of ice, snow and rocks it could kill her...

She shivered, being awfully aware that she thought too much.

"We'll have to get a change of clothes before walking into the city," Alistair told her, interrupting her train of thought. "I'm sure there must be some sort of house or whatever here."

Odale frowned. "What, we'll ask them for clothes?" she asked. He laughed straight at her, much to her dismay. "Don't."

"We'll take them," he answered. "Are you always this naïve, or is it just today?"

"Shut it," she snapped at him. "Don't talk to me that way-"

"Or?" Alistair showed his teeth. "What are you going to do without me, sweet girl? You could just as well crawl up and die."

She hated him, she realized, and how condescending he was. Odale pouted, but didn't tell him anything, again. To a certain degree, he was right. She'd be painfully lost in the Eastern Snowplains, without guidance. But crawl up and die? That was too extreme. Alistair had to know that... Or was it just one of the values they had, that Mother had told her about?

At that point she could impossibly know.

* * *

Zamir pulled a hand over his eyepatch. It had been expensive, but his last one had disappeared during a storm, so he'd had to get one. He pulled his hair back, tied it up.

At least not so many people stared at him, he thought, when he looked himself in the mirror. Not any more. And especially not as much as they had done in the Southern Desert. It was, of course, not the fact that they stared... more why they stared.

They stared because he was an outsider, because of his eye. As if he wasn't human, like they were.

He shook his head. Once, he'd promised not to let anyone define him, and not let his eye define him... but it was hard, harder than one could think. It was easier when Odale was around though. Zamir heard someone knock, and he turned away his reflection. "Who is it?" he called.

"It's me," a voice, familiar boy's voice called. Septimus, Zamir guessed, but he hadn't met Septimus in a while.

He rushed to open the door and as he'd thought, Septimus stood outside. "Hi," he said, "What do you want?"

When the word had left his mouth, he realized how rude it came out and smiled apologetically, murmering an excuse. "It's alright," Septimus replied, and Zamir thought he seemed a bit shy, which he knew was strange for Septimus. "I was only wondering if you'd like to go with me to Jenna?"

Zamir couldn't hide his surprise. "Oh?" he said. "Did Marcia send you?"

"No," Septimus said. "I came here. I thought it had to be lonely for you, too, when Odale's not here."

Zamir nodded. "Thank you," he said.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Lost

* * *

"So," Septimus said. "How did you and Odale really meet?"

Zamir wasn't sure he understood the question. "We were little," he told Septimus, "I'd say, at least. This, er, man took me in when I was young, because of my eye. He was on DomDaniel's side, I got to do some spy job with Odale. She hated me at first... but we got along later."

"Your eye?" Septimus looked at him, slightly quizzical, as if he didn't understand.

"I _have _told you," Zamir replied. "Or haven't I?"

"Oh," Septimus said. "That. I'm sorry, I forgot."

Zamir forced a smile. "Well, I wish I could forget most of the time," he said, "So it's okay."

Septimus, Zamir thought, looked as if he was symphatetic to him. However, so had both Pullman and Flarthy and they had never done Zamir any real good. At least Zamir knew that Septimus for the most of the time was kind, Odale had told him that. "How's Marcia?" he asked, breaking the awkward silence that hit in. "Is she okay?"

"Sure," Septimus said. "Even though she's a bit worried."

"Worried?" Zamir frowned. "Odale's just... lost, that's all."

"Let's not talk about it," Septimus mumbled hurriedly. "Look! There's Jenna!"

* * *

Alistair fixed with her large cloak, covering the dress that she wore underneath. He'd torn the edges on her sleeves of her shirt, and at last he took a step back. "So," he said. "At least it's not visible that you're dressed like a rebel. Do you remember what you should ask for?"

"Food and firewood," Odale replied shortly. "Meanwhile you steal the people who are trying to help us's clothes."

He rolled his eyes at her. "It's called survival," he said. "Besides, look at that cottage! It's clearly well-off people living in there."

To her big frustration she agreed with them. What choice did they have? She have? "Fine," she mumbled.

"Good girl," condecsendingly, he patted her on the head. Odale begun approaching the small cottage, meanwhile Alistair walked around it. He had spotted a small wooden house, in which there came smoke out of and that he recognized as a laundry house.

Odale twisted her hands. What if the people in there didn't speak her language? What could she do then? She had no idea, but anyways she knocked on the door with the exquisite doorknocker. It was pretty, she thought, and heavy, most likely of iron. It was painted in red and white and blue, looked like a fish.

The door swung open, and a woman in yellow robes and a warm, red cloak swept over her shoulder and fastened with a golden buckle. "Hello," Odale said calmly. "Do you speak castelian?"

The woman nodded. "_Si_," she replied, crossing her arms. "You do want what?"

Odale gave a shy smile. "Me and my brother-in-law are... a little bit stuck," she said. "We were just robbed, and I'm only asking if you have some firewood or food to spare?"

The woman gained a much more friendly expression, as if she thawed. "Is you and he alright, dear?" she asked worriedly. "Of course I have something to spare. Come on in."

She stepped aside, allowing Odale to enter. She looked around. "Husband of mine is merchant, so we always have extra," the woman continued, walking into a small room and a few seconds came back with an empty basket. "Here, hold. I'll find food."

Odale followed the woman into a kitchen, which was grand. The floor was a brick floor, the walls white-washed and bare, and all was clean. She felt herself blush ever so slightly when she thought about how she basically stole from the woman, while the woman was giving her food.

And the woman was not ungenerous. She put bread, fish-baked-in-bread, a cake, some rice, tea, some water, firewood and a few jars of what she called 'fruit in honey'. "Thank you!" Odale finally said, smiling widely. "Thank you so much!"

The woman took her hands in hers. "You look like little girl I knew," the woman replied. "And what more can I do? I hope you have luck. Fare well."

Odale walked back, into the woods, where she saw Alistiar lean against a tree. He had got the clothes, all wrapped in a blanket, also stolen. "Did you get any?" he asked her, but probably only out of formality. He didn't even look at her, only at the neatly woven basket. "Did she give you much?"

"Food for three days, perhaps," Odale replied. "Well, unless you eat like a wild dog."

Ignoring her comment Alistair grabbed the basket and looked through this. "Three days," he murmured, half to himself and half to Odale. "This would definitely hold for three days. And it won't take three days to get to the city. A day, a day and a half at most."

"Come," he said. "We need to go, if we want to get anywhere before dark."

* * *

Apparently the roads in the Eastern Snowplains were lined with safe houses for travelers, which Odale didn't think was an especially bad idea. If only someone would care for the houses, too.

She stood in one of them, which had holes in both floor and ceiling, but surprisingly not on the walls. Alistair threw himself lazily onto a couch out of wood, probably the same kind of wood as the trees outside, and it was heavily padded. He groaned, and stretched. "Why don't you start a fire?" he asked, in a demanding tone.

Odale was too exhausted to protest. She took out some firewood from the basket, placing it carefully in the fireplace. She rubbed her hands together, murmuring a short ignition spell, too tired to simply snap her fingers. When she parted her hands flames spread from her fingertips, igniting the wood, and she sat down in front of it. "If you want dinner you'll have to make it yourself," she told Alistair. "I'm not hungry."

"You will be, so it would be better for you to eat," Alistair said. "But I'm not your mother. Go change clothes and I'll cook rice."

Reluctanly, Odale rose from the fire. Even though she didn't feel the cold it was lovely to feel the warmth of it. Besides, her fingers felt stale and the warmth helped. The clothes laid in a blanket which Alistair had taken with him, from the woman. She took them all out, and looked at them. "Which one is mine?" she asked loudly. "Skirt and blouse," Alistair replied shortly. "Yellow and red, you won't miss them."

Odale picked up a red blouse and yellow skirt, he hadn't lied. She looked around, and saw a linen screen, which she stood behind and changed. There was a mirror, which she looked in. In a way, she barely recognized herself.

It was completely different from what she used to wear, and what the clothes in the Castle looked like. The blouse had wide sleeves, very airy, and the skirt had to be wrapped around her waist. She walked back out, Alistair looked at her. He laughed. "Don't you look rich?" he said snapishly.

"It was you who found the clothes," she snapped back. "Not my fault if I look stupid."

"You don't look stupid," he told her, in a different tone. "Just... you know..."

She shook her head. "Then what's the point in saying it anyways?" she growled, sunk down on the wooden couch. "How's the food going?"

"So, you were hungry?" he smirked at her. "I thought you said you weren't."

"Apparently I am now," she replied. "Where did you get the pots from?"

"I did not steal them," he snapped, "If that's what you think. There's always, or almost always at least, pots in these houses."

She ignored him. "And what do you think the fruits in honey taste like?" she asked. Alistair shrugged, looked at her as if asking 'what's it to you'? "I'd like to have some."

* * *

Rodrian outside Cashmére's door. Again. He wanted to apologize, or something of the sort, to Lorea. However he hadn't thought what to say, but it mattered less to him to say something eloquent and intelligent. What mattered was to see Lorea again, his little girl. He loved her, and missed her incredibly.

A small child opened the door, not much older than what Lorea had been once he'd found her. "Hello," he said softly. "Is Lorea here?"

The child tilted her head to one side, as if thinking. She, Rodrian thought, looked a bit strange. Her skin was unnaturally pale. He looked into her eyes, and recognized the look in them. Dead. "Yes," the girl replied, but didn't move out of the way for him to enter. "Who are you?"

"I'm Rodrian," Rodrian told her, "Lorea's uncle. May I see her?"

Like a cat, the child hissed and bared her teeth. "Cashmére doesn't like you," she snarled. "Why are you here?"

"I want to talk to my niece," the little girl wasn't as sweet as she looked like. He raised his chin up a little bit, but still looked down on her again. "Isn't she here? Lorea!"

After a few seconds, his niece entered. Beside him came Dextus, and Rodrian swallowed hard. "Lorea, please," he said. "Please, forgive me."

"Last time you said you did nothing wrong," Lorea replied coolly, "And if you did nothing wrong, then what do you have to apologize for?"

He was lost for words, just stared at her. "Lorea, p-please-"

"I hate you!" Lorea yelled, causing the small girl to jump. "You lied to me! All my life, you just lied! You didn't even have the guts to say you lied, instead you let Marcia do it! You, Rodrian, is the most despicable human being that I know!"

Her cheeks were bright red and she was breathing heavily. "I understand-" Rodrian begun, but stopped himself. He took a step into the apartment, but she backed away from him.

"Your excuses weigh as much as sunlight," Lorea spat, he could see her pressing her nails into her palms, to restrain herself. Rodrian knew her body language, her patterns and habits when she felt certain emotions. He knew her, he'd raised her, and he loved her, but she didn't want anything to do with him. "Now leave!"

"You haven't let me explain!" he pleaded, "Lorea, please, at least let me explain."

"You've already told me," Lorea snapped "They were trying to kill me, and you didn't have the spine to let them do it."

"Spineless?" Rodrian felt as if stabbed in the gut, "How is that spineless, I-"

"You can't stand behind your family, but you can't stand behind the very organization you betrayed them for!" Lorea said, "That's cowardly. And _leave!_ Little, close the door."

The last thing was meant for the child, who gleefully showed her teeth to Rodrian had, pushing him out shut the door. It shocked him how strong she was, but wasn't able to ponder over it for long. Instead, he walked back to his home. Alone.

* * *

She stroke the honey from her mouth, and wondered how she'd never came across peaches in honey before. It was probably the best thing she'd ever eaten. "I'll take the couch if I get the blanket," Alistair told Odale, and gathered all the jars and suck into the basket. "And you can take the bed."

To Odale it didn't seem like an especially bad deal, and she nodded. "Besides," he continued, "I cooked, so you can do the dishes."

"Fine," Odale said. She gathered the pot, they'd only used one, and stretched out her palm. The rests of rice and sauce dissolved, and left there was only a fine powder which she threw into the fire place. "All done."

"You're quite the wizardess, aren't you?" Alistair asked her, "Er, what was your name again?"

"Call me Odie," she said. Apparently, Cashmére had been a horribly bad choice of name. Besides, she had figured out that no one knew who Odale was anyways. At least they didn't know the name. She took her cloak from the couch, and her things, and laid down in the bed. "Good night, Alistair."

"Good night," he replied.

* * *

**(A/N So! I have a short thing that I need to say, which is that I'm striving to end this story the 14th of july, since I'll be going to Japan for the jamboree there, and will be gone for an entire month. After that I'm thinking about continuing the Odale story, if there is interest for it. However, if there is none or if people don't want me to then please tell me.)**


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Sights of Something Bigger

* * *

"Are you tired?" Rodrian asked her carefully.

"No, I'm fine," Runa answered. He took her hand and pressed it gently in his palm. It was the closest thing to intimacey they usually had. Rodrian kissed her on the forehead and sat down beside her on the couch, in that small room they had rented. Runa looked at him, and wondered which of his physical traits she'd like their child to have.

Perhaps his eyes, she thought, and the fact that he was a wizard. His family, she was vaguely aware, had been wizards for a very long time. None in her family was, but her brother had been a witch. She missed him, most of all her family members, next to her grandmother. Her grandmother, who was most likely dead by the. She held back a sob. "If you're fine, then why are you sobbing?" he asked her.

"I didn't sob," she murmured. Rodrian sighed, and held her close.

She, to some extent, liked him. He had always been good to her, and considering that she'd been kidnapped in her youth by rebels, he was way better than she'd thought a rebel husband could be. Even though she didn't _love _him, she never had. "Has your other niece come back yet?" she asked, referencing Odale. Rodrian looked down, shook his head. "Do you think it's the rebels?"

"I'm not sure," Rodrian answered. "They haven't told me anything, which they most likely would have if they had taken her. Still... maybe they don't trust me?"

"Let's hope they trust you," Runa said hastily. "If they don't... well, you know how that would end."

Her husband shook his head again. "Let's hope," he tried to smile at her, but failed. She saw him look a bit pained. "Runa, do you have family left? Have you heard any from them?"

Never had he asked anything about her family before. "I suppose they're left," she said, and wondered if he could read her thoughts. "I haven't heard of them since the rebels... well, why do you ask?"

"Runa..." he looked at once very uncomfortable, as if he was going to say something which was hard to pronounce. "I want to leave the rebels, but you know how they'll react. I dont want you, or the child to be in harms way. Maybe it would be best if you found your family members and stayed with them."

She pushed him away. "No," she said. "Rodrian, you cannot abandon me to take care of our child alone. Don't separate us. Please."

"If I was to leave the rebels-"

"Then don't leave the rebels!" she exclaimed, "At least not when it's small... You can't."

The way he looked at her made her feel angry. He looked at her, as if he _pitied _her. Sure, she'd love to see her family again. She'd like to meet her brother, her parents, her sisters... especially her baby sister, which she'd never watched grow up. At the same time, she wanted her child to grow up with it's father, too. She stood up, and looked away from him. There was a knock on the door, and Rodrian too stood up. "We'll talk about this later, Runa," he said softly, and opened the door.

Runa blinked in surprise. It was Marcia.

* * *

Good morning, me, she thought to herself, and she stood up, stretched. Alistair was still asleep, and he looked very serene when he did. Perhaps, under different circumstances, she would have found him cute.

His hair was some mix of redish-brown and blonde, and he was fairly well-built. She looked away, and felt a bit gross. Her sister had been kidnapped and her father murdered by someone, who could very well be his father. "Are you planning on getting up anytime soon?" she asked him snappishly. "Or are you just going to lay there all day?"

Alistair grunted something incoherent, which she had no possibility to understand since it was in no language she understood. Odale kicked the leg of the couch he laid in, and then picked out the bread which was folded in a piece of cloth and broke off a piece.

It was the kind that her mother made, with fish in it, but instead of an entire fish baked it the fish had been finely cut and was all inside the bread. She actually preferred that bread before that of her mothers, Odale thought, and sat down. "How early is it?" Alistair asked, slowly sitting up.

"I don't know," she replied. "It's light outside, at least."

"Hmm," Alistair sat up. "Did you make any breakfast."

"No," she said. "You'll have to be happy with some bread. I want to go after you've eaten."

Alistair didn't seem to object. Instead, he sat down on the floor infront of her. She handed him the bread, and he nodded gratefully. "Why are we going to the city?" she asked him curiously. "I thought there'd be soliders there."

"There will be," Alistair said. "But there is a place where we can meet with the other rebels, and then we'll go together to our mountain base."

Odale took another bite from the bread. "Do you know what the mountains are called?" he asked her, in the same tone that Marcia sometimes asked her questions in. Odale was bothered by the likeness, and shook her head. "The Sirmiq Mountains, I think it would be in your language. Sirmiq means galcier. And when some of the ice of the glacier melts, it creates caves and hollows in it. There, we have a base."

"Thanks for the geography lesson," she snapped, but in secret found it exciting to find out even the smallest things about the country from which both of her parents came. She wondered if he would have treated her the same way if he knew she was her mother's daughter, or if he'd attempt to kill her. Like everyone had said a rebel would.

* * *

"Marcia, you're shivering," Rodrian stated, stepping aside, allowing his little sister to enter, "What on earth is it?"

The look of her still shocked her, everything from her elegant ExtraOrdinary Wizard's robe, to her age, and it made him uncomfortable. He still remember the girl who'd studied obsessively, who'd stubbornly ran away and most of all the woman who'd stood up to him, and told him what he'd really been. A monster, to say it shortly.

In her hands Marcia was clutching a small, leatherbound book in her hands. It had once had small, black letters pressed into the leather, but since it was so worn they were barely visible anymore. "You didn't tell me about that first attack," she said. "Why didn't you?"

"I'm almost sure I did," Rodrian replied. "What about it?"

"What about it?" Marcia snapped, "They fought with Odale, and now Odale's gone. You must be blind not to see the connection."

"Marcia, once again, I would _know_ if they had take her," Rodrian said. "Especially since they think that she's my daughter."

Marcia looked anywhere but at his face. "It's late, Marcia," he continued. "Go home and get to bed, you most likely need the rest. You have a hard job-"

"Spare me the patronization," Marcia replied hastily. "Fine. I'll go."

"I thought you'd want to go," he smiled at her. "With you hating me and all..."

"I don't hate you," she told him. "I really don't. Of course I'm angry at you, can you expect me to be anything else? But you're my brother, still."

"That's kind of you to say, Marcia," he replied. "Perhaps you'd like some tea before you leave?"

* * *

"So, Rodrian had a kid," Alistair muttered, as they walked down a small road, which supposedly lead to the city they were going to. "I always assumed he wasn't attracted to women. Or anyone at all, really."

Odale shrugged. She barely knew her uncle, who she pretended to be her father. Instead, she switched the side on which she carried the basket. Alistair looked at her. "Do you want me to take that basket for you?" he asked.

To her surprise, she didn't protest and gave the basket to him. "Thanks," she answered.

"And then you can tell your father that I took good care of you," he smiled at her. "Have you met him much before?"

"No," Odale said. "A lot when I was little, though, but then he... dissapeared. He came to visit me, now. But, you know..."

"Hm," Alistair hummed, as if understanding. Odale felt as if she wore a mask, a very believable one, which people indentified with and she could not. Before, she hadn't had any problem with lies at all. It had all been so easy, she'd had an easy motive. But now... nothing was easy anymore.

"What about your parents?" she asked him instead, trying to act normal.

Alistair's face became as cold as another mask, a mask of stone. "Once," he said. "When I was little, my mother and my father... they never got along. My father yelled and screamed at my mother, and he used to hit her too. She wasn't a saint, either, and usually yelled back."

He paused, and Odale felt coldness grow in her gut. She realized that she felt sympathy for him, and hated it. "One day, I came home from training," Alistair continued, "I was nine years old. I came into the hall, and they were fighting. They didn't even see me, I think, and my dad kept yelling... vile things at her. Mother didn't even fight back, she just held her hands over her ears."

Alistair shivered. "And I screamed, told them, or my father, to stop. They didn't. Father kept on yelling and yelling, and I shut my eyes. It was then, that I heard a crack."

Odale realized that he was a great storyteller, and she shivered too. She'd prefer it if he could distance her more. "Father, he'd tossed mother, and she'd fallen down the stairs," he said, "She died quickly, at once even I think. Her neck probably snapped. After that, my father went mad. He apparently loved her... as much as you can love a woman who you abuse and kill."

"And?" she asked.

"Two years after he killed himself, too," Alistair finished. "Drove a sword to his gut. At least he was a little bit brave."

* * *

"Starlo," Alistair said. "My least favourite city."

It didn't look so nice, Odale thought. The city was laid upon a cliff, which hung dangerously over the ocean. At the other end of the city, or perhaps one should call it a town, the feet of the mountain was placed. Far up on top of the mountain, Odale saw, laid a castle, it's towers clawing at the sky. "What's so wrong with it?" she asked. "It looks... non decaying."

Alistair snorted. "Well, I don't have any good memories from here at all," he answered. "And I don't expect to make any new good memories. Especially not with you."

"Why thank you, prince Charming," Odale snarked back at him. "Lovely to hear how highly you think of me."

"I didn't mean anything bad," Alistair replied. "Besides, I'll just get you there, and let some other rebel make arrangements for you. I don't want to be involved in anything that has to do with Overstrand's daughter."

"Thanks, again," she said.

"You know what I mean," Alistair replied. "He'll be all defensive when he fins out his daughter was here, since my brother... he, well... you know."

"It was your brother who took me here?" Odale blinked in surprise. "_He?_ That scrawny boy?"

"You don't look to strong, etiher, miss," Alistair snapped. "However, yes he did take you. And you, quite impressively, escaped."

Odale looked down, completely quiet.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Sweet Dreams

* * *

"Do you think I'm bad for not forgiving him?" Lorea asked, leaning her forehead against Colum's neck. He stroke her hair.

"I don't," he replied. "But you know I hate them. All of them. I'd kill them, if I could."

He kissed her on the cheek. She wondered if that would include Rodrian, too, if it came up to it. Something that worried her was that she almost... didn't care. Or rather, she almost felt as if he had earned, which she knew was a horrific thought since he had raised her. On his own, without no one else. Still, he hadn't had to, had he? He could very well have left her with her _parents_, her _real _parents. There was nothing she wished more than that he had done that. Lorea stood up, looked around. "Little?" she called. "Are you up? Weren't you supposed to go to bed?"

Little spun around, and her eyes glimmered. "There's someone outside the door," she said abruptly. "I don't like her."

"Her?" Lorea stepped into the hall, and opened the door. "Oh, Marcia. I didn't think that you were coming tonight, otherwise I would have worn something else than my nightgown..."

"That's fine," Marcia said. "Is... is Cashmére still here?"

Lorea shook her head. "No, she's out," she replied thoughtfully. "I don't know when she'll be back. Do you want to come in? We have... food."

"Actually, I'd like to stay, very much," Marcia attempted a smile. "But only for a short little while. I need to find something of Odale's."

"Oh?" Lorea entered the kitchen, "Would you like to eat something before you look, maybe..."

Marcia had already entered what used to be Odale's bedroom, and now was hers. She sighed, and walked back into the room with the couch. Dextus smiled at her, signed to her to sit down beside him. Lorea sat down carefully, leant her forehead against his neck once again. He smiled, and resumed to playing with her hair.

There was a gasp and a half-scream, and Lorea groaned. "Shouldn't you go and see what it is with her?" Dextus asked her. She shook her head.

"No, she's the ExtraOrdinary Wizard," she mumbled. "She'll be fine."

"Yes, but your aunt being murdered in the next room would kill my night," he told her. "What about you?"

She groaned again. "Why are you right?" she rose again. "Marcia?"

"What is... that _thing _doing here?" Marcia asked, and Lorea and Dextus exchanged looks. She didn't sound very happy, almost like Rodrian when he was about to be mad.

Lorea took a deep breath, and readied herself for a talk with Marcia. She pushed the neat door, which her mother had painted white to match the walls, and looked in. Her aunt spun around when she pushed the door open, her arms crossed. "Why is it here?" she repeated. "Do you know what that is?"

"It's a _myling_, I know," Lorea said. "It's mother who is taking care of it, Marcia. And she in turn does it because Odale asked her..."

"Odale?" Marcia looked to the child, which stood by the bureau in the room. Little was trembling, and Lorea went up to her, hugged her tight. "I should have realized."

Lorea picked Little up, held her. "Why?" she asked Marcia. Little, she noted, didn't look as if Marcia being disgusted by her bothered her. She, in turn, actually looked as if Marcia _disgusted _her. Lorea could practically feel the hatred beaming from Little, who glared at Marcia.

"She has a certain habit of... you know, getting odd friends," Marcia answered. "Friends who maybe aren't so good for her."

"It's a little girl," Lorea replied. "Marcia, what are you even looking for?"

"Odale's journal," Marcia said. "Her older one. It should be around here... Ah. Got it."

Lorea frowned. "Why would you need that?" she asked. Marcia looked down on her hands.

"Clues, to where she went," Marcia said. "Lorea, I know it seems... odd of me to do this. I don't mean to, I just want to find my niece. My other niece."

The niece sighed, feeling uncomfortable.

* * *

Rodrian stood by the window. Runa snuck up behind him, holding a hand over her abdomen, which had grown pretty big by then. She felt huge, and a little gross, even if she was happy. "Runa?" Rodrian turned his head and looked at her, with a little smile. "How are you?"

She smiled again. "Well, very well," she replied. "Ari's well, too."

"You like that name, don't you?" he asked her, pulled a hand over her braid. "Well, what if it's a girl, then?"

"Then Ylva is well," Runa replied. She knew that Rodrian did not want to have a boy, rebel boys were quickly pulled into military training. It had been worse, she'd heard from her few friends, the last few years. Mainly because there were no more rebels, they were dying. Joining the rebel forces weren't as popular anymore, many of them were growing old, and the Great Eastern Empire were crushing them. Every attack the rebels made were becoming more and more desperate, often aiming at the Wandering People, which the leaders thought were going to make them stronger and more appealing, but it had the opposite effect.

Crimes, all of them, were harshly punished and the one of desertion harshest of all. She didn't understand why he needed to leave. It was only going to hurt them. If she didn't have the child, then maybe she'd be for it. She hated them, very much, but she knew their power. They'd track her down, after they'd killed Rodrian, and she didn't want to think of the rest.

Rodrian held her hard to his chest. "Whatever it is, Runa, it's going to be okay," he whispered. She knew that she didn't look worried, so he had to be soothing himself.

"I know," she replied. "Rodrian, I know. Let me go, now."

"You aren't still angry, are you?" he asked her, pulled his hair back. "Please, don't be."

She shook her head. "No," she mumbled, "Of course not. I mean, it's a bad idea. A really, really bad idea..."

Rodrian pursed his lips. "Perhaps," he said. "But it's the right thing."

Runa wondered if it was the right thing if it could lead to her and the child to die, potentially even Rodrian. But she simply smiled at him.

* * *

There were no walls around the city. Odale wondered how they kept the rebels, or any beasts, out. She saw no guards, no posts... Alistair yanked her with him, she almost fell. "We are not here for sightseeing, missy," he snarked. "Just to meet my... friends, got it? So don't drag your feet."

Had she been like him, once? Was there any resemblance between him and what she'd been as Laurine? She had a vague feeling that there was, and she didn't like it. "_Neiti_," Odale turned around. A woman on a horse stopped her horse to look at her, "_Voinko auttaa sinua?" _

She blinked, not understanding a word, and only looked down on the horse's hooves. They were probably bigger than her head, and curly, grey hair covered them like cloaks. It was probably eight feet high. "She asked you if she can help you," Alistair whispered in her ear. "But you don't have any problems really, have you?"

Odale looked on the woman, smiled and shook her head. The woman was tall, with red hair and fair skin... but somehow she thought she reminded her of Marcia, in an odd way. "No, no I don't... _K-kiitos_," she mumbled, remembering the few words that Aldo had taught her, and walked away with Alistair.

"It's just around the corner," he whispered to her, and nodded in a direction which Odale could not clearly see. She just followed him.

The snow, she thought, wasn't as pretty as it was outside of the city. Outside the city it had been pure, with few footsteps and no dirt. Inside the city it was the opposite. It wasn't that it didn't look like that in the Castle, wintertime, but it looked horrible.

He gave her a push, apparently in the right direction. Odale didn't even look, and when he grabbed her she turned and glared at him, ready to snark at him. They were already in the alleyway, but so was someone else. Alistair, she noticed, looked horrified. He wrapped his arms around her waist, turned his head to the right. The alleyway was a dead-end, with a wall and a red door to the left and the street to the right. There were soldiers outside the door, she could tell by the armour they wore.

Most likely not rebel soldiers. "What are you doing?" she hissed in his ear, but he was too heavy to push.

"Act along, okay?" he told her. "We don't want them to think we're looking for the others, okay?"

A man approached them. He looked very stern, and said something in latin to Alistair. Alistair repeated the same word again and again, she supposed it meant sorry, and then let her go, to her big relief. He took her away, again. "What was that about?" she asked him.

Alistair shook his head. "They know..." he answered, "About the hideout. I don't understand how."

Odale looked around, suddenly feeling very lost. Again. "Then were could we go?" she asked him, worriedly.

Once again, he shook his head. "I have no idea, except maybe..."

* * *

He had nowhere to go. His mentor was ill, too ill to teach or work, and his room was far too claustrophobic. Zamir walked up and down the Wizard Way, not having anything else to do, either. He wished that he could talk to Odale again, if only for a minute. Perhaps just ask her if she was alright, tell her that he missed her horribly much.

Then, he had an idea. They were connected, he could talk to her by just _thinking_... The only question was how far away she was. If she was too far away, he'd never be able to get to her.

When they were smaller, just before he'd left, they had experimented with it. Their thoughts had been able to get to the other far apart, but they'd only tried it by a few kilometers. And even then it had been hard, the voices had sounded like a weak echo, overshadowed by another rustling, scratching noise. It had exhausted both of them.

But, he thought, he was a better Wizard. Stronger, too, and the Castle made him feel even more so... almost as strong as he'd been in Ay Chavre. Perhaps if he was closer to something powerful..?

He turned around, and walked quickly back towards the Wizard Tower, forcing himself not to break into a run.

* * *

"It used to belong to the most powerful bank in the entire Eastern Snowplains," Alistair explained to her. "We, well, attacked it. No one used it ever since. Well, except for your father."

"My father?" Odale asked curiously, wondering why Rodrian would be there. Alistair shrugged.

"He just goes here sometimes," he answered. Odale could understand why.

She and Alistair had snuck in from the backside, but they stood in the great houses big entrance. The doors, despite being boarded up, were massive, possibly competing with the Silver Doors in the Wizard Tower. The ceiling was high, supported by giant pillars, all covered in a thick layer of soot. It, and the pillars, had once been painted in strong colours, which couldn't been seen anymore. However, Odale could see figures which the soot had covered.

Most beautiful, however, was a woman out of stone in the middle of the room. She was massive, probably around fourteen feet tall, and had once been dressed in fine fabrics. In her left hand, she held a sword pointing up towards the ceiling and in the other a balance. By her feet laid a wolf, with a hideos expression, and under that there was something inscripted. "_Acta non verba..._" she mumbled, pulled a hand over the text.

"Are you done?" he asked her. "There is a room, further in. I guess it was a... a..."

He stopped. "What kind of room?" Odale asked him back.

"You know, where someone works," Alistair said. "It was an important persons room, I suppose. It's very pretty."

"It's very pretty?" Odale smiled, "Is that why you want to be there? It's pretty?"

Alistair rolled his eyes. "No," he said. "I want to be there because it's the only place where the interior hasn't been burnt to dust. Come on, it's on the second floor."

He pulled her with him, but she was still impressed by what she saw of the building. There had been horribly much time put to build it, with the beautiful pillars and decorations on the ceiling. It was, she thought, almost a shame that it had had to be destroyed.

Alistair opened a burnt oaken door, it too covered in ashes. The doorknob was about to fall off, and on some places it had melted a little. "Whatever happened here?" she asked him, again. "What did you do?"

"Spells," Alistairs said, as he stepped into the room, "Curses..."

The room had been well preserved, she realized when she saw the carpet, the cushions and the tapestry hanging on the wall. "They made it really good for themselves, didn't they?" he said, sat down in the large armchair by the desk. "Really cozy."

"Sure," she sat down in the chair opposite to him. "It's dark outside. Will we rest here?"

"No, I just took you here to see it," Alistair snarked. Odale glared at him, put the basket on the table. She took out what she wanted, sat down on the couch which was leant against the wall and begun to eat.

* * *

Zamir knocked on Marcia's door. It wasn't Marcia who opened, though, but Septimus. He tried to smile at Septimus. "Hello," Zamir said. "Ah-"

"Odale's still not here," Septimus told him quickly. "Sorry..."

"No, no, it wasn't about that," Zamir said. Should he lie about his real intentions? Tell him that he was just going into the Library? Maybe he should. Or maybe he shouldn't. He looked at Septimus, trying to judge if he could trust him. At last, he decided. "Look, uhm, I have a way that maybe could help find Odale. Maybe."

"Should I tell Marcia?" Septimus asked.

"Not yet," Zamir answered. "I just want to try it first..."

"Then why did you come here?" Septimus inquired, still not stepping aside so that he could come in. Zamir sighed.

"It's hard to explain, especially to someone who doesn't know... but I need to be closer to a powersource, and what's more powerful than the Pyramid Library?"

Septimus frowned. "Okay," he said. "Do come in."

_She stood on a hill, high grass brushing her legs as she moved. The sky wasn't a sky, instead a ceiling, painted all in dark blue and silver, as to imitate a night sky. Except in the middle, which was an explosion of colours, pink, purple, light green and blue. _

_There was no walls, just whiteness. Odale took a deep breath, felt the earth underneath her toes. It was all too real, too real to be a dream. "Odale!" she recognized the voice very well, and spun around, seeing nothing. "It's you! Goodness, it's you..." _

_He sounded as if he was on the verge of crying. "I thought you were dead, dead..." he Zamir continued. "I'm so happy..." _

_Zamir sounded far off, and she still couldn't see him. All she could see was a dark shadow, far off in the distance? Was that him? So far, too far. She begun walking. "Zam?" she asked, "Zam is that you?"_

_She heard noise, which she couldn't interprete, but it sounded like Zamir. She called out for him again, the shadow had moved. Then again and again, and then everything faded to black._

* * *

Odale sat up, and screamed.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Longing

* * *

Zamir slammed his fist onto the table, then realized that his head was throbbing, and pale dots danced in front of his eyes. It had worked once, but only enought to tell him that Odale was alive. Or, he had begun to believe, maybe it was just a trick of imagination... maybe she was really dead, and it had just been his imagination. "Your nose," Septimus said. "It's bleeding."

The dizziness stopped, if only for a few seconds, and Zamir wiped his nose. "Didn't work," he said shortly, and rose up. "Ouch, my head..."

"What does it feel like?" Septimus asked.

"That thing in your brain which makes you able to see how others feel, does that seventh son of a seventh son thing make you not have that, or are you just generally daft?" Zamir snarked, frustrated by the ache in his head.

Septimus narrowed his eyes. "I meant what does it feel like to have a mental connection to someone, but thanks," Septimus said. "And are you done..?"

"I'm sorry," Zamir said. "I am. And, when you're able to, it feels pretty good. It's special, something only the two of you have."

"Hm," Septimus replied.

Zamir stood up. It had been a week since it had worked to communicate with her, and even then it barely had. "I should leave," he said. "Have to get back to lessons..."

* * *

She braided her hair, again. It hadn't been washed for a week, or throughly brushed. Odale had, at most, pulled the tangles apart. She'd never thought that she'd miss her brush.

Alistair had told her to wait, which she did. Odale didn't like him giving her orders, but she for the most part knew when she should pick her part. For the most part. She knew that Marcia would stress the later, and smiled to herself. Then felt her heart ache. Had they looked for her? Were they aware of where she was? Probably not. Though if they did, would they come looking for her?

Odale tied the end of the braid, let it go and let out a frustrated sigh. Alistair took far too long time on him, she thought. If he was in trouble, she was too.

"Hello, there!" she heard horses hooves creak against snow, and she looked up. He was a several feet up over where his head usually was, sitting on a grey horse, holding the reins to another. "Our new matter of transportation."

She stared from him, to the horse, not knowing what to say. Odale'd rather walk, or perhaps crawl, than to sit on one of those... not that she knew how to control one. Of course she'd been on one a few times, but never controlled it. Mostly, she'd held onto something wishing the horse would stop. Did he really think that she was going to ride one?

Alistair laughed at her expression. "What's the matte?" he asked, "Are you afraid?"

"I'm not afraid," Odale snapped, "It's just... I don't know..."

"Have you not ridden a horse before?" Alistair wondered, frowning. "Oh, I thought-"

"You thought wrong," Odale mumbled. "Now, what are we going to do?"

"Teach you," Alistair replied. "It's okay, I saved you the softer saddle. Both are old, and military horses. It doesn't get much better than this."

He hopped down from this saddle, landed with a smile. Odale understood that he wanted her to come closer, and she slowly took a few steps nearer to him. "What do I do?" she asked, not wanting to get closer.

"Firstly, you probably should be sitting on him," Alistair answered. "Come on, I'll help you."

Odale put down the basket, far from the hooves so that it wouldn't be stomped on. Alistair put his hands on her waist, and lifted her up. He guided her fingers so that they were as they should on the rein. She almost expected the horse to run off with her on it's back. "And now?" she asked, looking down at him. At least she was above him.

"Squeeze with your legs," Alistair replied.

"Easy," Odale mumbled, and did so. It begun to walk, and she welped.

"Don't be afraid," Alistair said. "It knows that, and it will eat you."

She turned her head, to glare at him. "It's a joke," Alistair followed up, mounting his horse, and followed her.

"How do I turn it?" she asked.

"Kick it in the opposite side of where you want to go, then pull the rein in the way you want to go," Alistair answered. "Have you seriously not done this before?"

Odale shook her head.

* * *

He kissed Runa on the forehead before leaving, not knowing why. His father had done so with his mother, and probably so had their parents before them. It didn have anything to do with that he loved her, because he didn't, at least not romantically. To be fair, he had never loved anyone romantically.

Rodrian saw that lanky, dark haired boy again, and groaned. He didn't like the kid. However, he ignored him and walked out of the Doll House... which, he had to admit, wasn't a place he enjoyed especially, either, with dolls everywhere. He was happy that he got to leave, and walked down the street.

He was going to get a home, somewhere hidden. Somewhere comfortable.

* * *

They held hands. It was nice, felt warm, Lorea thought, and a bit sweaty. Colum stroke his thumb over her hand, kissed her on the cheek."Not now," she mumbled.

"Are you tired of me?" he asked, smiled a little at her. "I've been here for a few days now..."

"Don't be ridiculous, Colum," she answered and smiled back. "I'm just tired."

"Hm," Colum said. "You know, I'm tired, too. Good night."

He went into the living space and laid onto the couch, she could see him. Lorea, however, was determined to wait up for her mother, who once again was coming home later. She put a pot with water on the stove, waiting for it to boil and her mother.

Like she, many, many times, had waited for Rodrian. When she had, had he killed people? Had he wrecked more families, like he had wrecked hers? Lorea was bitter, so bitter, and she was angry with him, agrier than she'd ever been. Couldn't he at least have told her? Once? When she was little, she understood. She understood that he didn't want her to anyone about it. But when she was fourteen? Sixteen? Eighteen? Wasn't she trusthworthy, hadn't she been as nice as she ever could to him?

Lorea stroke the tears, which had been building up in her eyes, away. _You're not a child!_ she told herself, _Don't cry over this. It's ridiculous. _

But, when she looked in the small hallway mirror, they still looked red-ish and wet. "Lorea?" her mother opened the door. "Are you still up? Oh!"

Cashmére approached her, but Lorea turned her back, tried to wipe them away. "Hello, mum," she said, tried to calm her voice, but it still trembled... Her mother put a hand on her cheek.

"You know, it's okay to cry," she replied. "My sweet girl, I've cried many times."

She embraced Lorea, tight, and Lorea sobbed into her mothers hair. Cashmére didn't say anything, which she was very grateful for, instead just held her, rocked her, like a small child. After what felt like an eternity, a lovely eternity, Cashmére pulled away, stroke Loreas cheek. "You look tired, _amica_," she whispered. "Perhaps you should go to bed. Or-"

Cashmére blushed. "I'm sorry, sometimes I forget that you're not a little girl..."

"You're probably right," Lorea said, with an attempted smile. "Goodnight, mum."

"Goodnight, sweetness," her mother whispered, and Lorea walked into her own bedroom.

* * *

"So, what's your story?" Alistair asked her. Odale blinked, looked at him.

"Excuse me?" she asked in return, straightened her back. Riding wasn't _that _bad, she thought, but was still not entirely comfortable up there. Also, she felt ill when she felt the horse move like that, and after an hour it was really frustrating, too. However, Alistair'd promised her that they'd get of soon, the horses wouldn't be able to go on for much longer.

"Your story," Alistair said, seemingly a tad bit frustrated. "Everyone has one. What's yours?"

Odale shook her head. Never would she tell him hers, it would ruin her act. Besides, why did he think that she would tell him her 'story', as he put it? They'd barely met, and their relationship hadn't really started out civil, with him attacking her and so. "Don't have one," she replied, "I grew up with my mother in the Castle. Or by it, at least. Never really knew my father. Only child. You know."

"That can't really be all, can it?" Alistair asked her.

She rolled her eyes. "What do you want?" she wondered, raising an eyebrow.

"Some action," Alistair jumped off his horse, and Odale did the same. "They need to rest, by the way. Horses are frail, really, it's almost funny."

* * *

Cashmére tucked Lorea into bed, as if she was four again, with a gentle kiss on the forehead, but Cashmére didn't think that any of them did mind especially much. However, she could barely leave the room. Instead, she stroke Lorea's hand carefully. Lorea still smiled, and had stopped crying. "Goodnight, mother," she mumbled, and turned, and Cashmére finally left the room.

Her daughter. Her beautiful, perfect daughter was back, the little four year old girl who'd pleaded her to make flowercrowns and have a pet snake, which she'd found in the glass garden. After far too long, but it was still something. She smiled. "Cass," a soft voice said behind her. Joseph. Again. Cashmére looked away, into the wall.

"What do you want?" she asked shortly.

"Not fight with you," Joseph answered. "Please, we should talk."

Cashmére shut her eyes. "Talk?" she wondered, raised her eyebrows.

"Cass, I'm dead," Joseph said.

"You don't say!" Cashmére played surprised, with a gleam in her eye and Joseph pressed his ghost-lips together. Sometimes Cashmére was difficult.

"I don't want to be holding you back in your life," Joseph continued, attempting not to care about her snarks. "If you want to move somewhere I haven't been, or goodness, perhaps marry someone else, don't think of me."

"You are not holding me back, Joseph," Cashmére replied. "I live where I want to, see who I want. This is unnecessary."

Joseph didn't seem to think so. "Well, maybe," he said, despite the thoughts.

* * *

"Chocolate?" Alistair offered, over horseback. She stretched for it, and he handed it to her. It wasn't in the shape she was used to, but chocolate was chocolate and it always made her remember Zamir. He'd given her her first peace, and she hadn't lost taste for it since. She wondered what he did then. Zamir had been in her dream, a few days ago.

"You stole those, too?" she asked, half-joking, chewing the chocolate. It had soft insides, which she liked.

"No, I bought it," he answered, grinning. "With money, which I stole."

It had turned into a joke between the two of them, stealing. Still, Odale felt a little bad for it. Of course it could have consequences for the people they stole from, they could be fired or not afford to eat or so. Still, she also told herself that they did it to survive. The chocolate, however, she thought, was a step too far. It wasn't a with the money.

The chocolate suddenly felt thick in her mouth, not especially nice. Odale swallowed. Somehow, Alistair seemed to understand her expression. "It was a noble, I swear," he said. "Besides, I still have some money. It's okay."

"Yeah," Odale mumbled.

"I've looked at a map," Alistair continued. "There's a house by a lake, about a day of riding from here. We could catch some fish, or seal if we're lucky, there. For food, on the way to the Mountain Camp, okay?"

"Sure," she said, but Odale didn't want to go to a safe house or a lake. She definetley didn't want to go to a camp, she just wanted to go _home_.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Truth

* * *

They came to the house that Alistair had talked about by the lake at nightfall. It was, Odale had to admit, very pretty. The lake was overfrozen, and oversnowed, and lined with piles of rock. The house, or cottage, was made out of stone, too, probably the same kind that lined the lake.

The lake was large, so large that Odale wondered if it really should be classified as a lake. It reached from the road, to an open field and then to a forest, and was so long that she couldn't see the end of it. She'd only seen tiny lakes in the Badlands.

In the far off distance she heard a howl, a sharp, cold howl which broke the silence, and it was followed by other howls, piercing the night. "Wolfs," Alistair said. "They don't prey on humans, like myth says, but it's better to keep out of their way."

"I know what a bloody wolf is!" Odale snapped.

"Good," Alistair replied shortly, annoyed with her snapping. "Don't get eaten."

They entered the safe house. Odale guessed she shouldn't have been puzzled, but she'd never seen other people in the safe houses. To her, they had almost seemed abandoned. There was, she saw, a small family. Parents, and two children. One, an infant and the other one had to be around four or five. The mother laid in one bed, she seemed ill.

Alistair glared at them, Odale didn't understand why. Weren't they allowed to be there? "Terve," the man rose. He had curly, brown hair and dark eyes. Odale smiled to him, and Alistair replied something short. He pushed her into the room.

He sat down in the corner, on a bench, and Odale beside him. "Why are you so angry?" she asked, and he sighed.

"I'm not angry," he told her.

Odale leaned back. "You look angry," she replied.

"I don't like those people," he said, meaning the family. Odale frowned, shook her head. The look he gave was truly filled with hatred, and Odale knew true hatred. She would even call it repulsion. Perplexed, she looked at the family. They, she thought, looked normal. Almost a bit like her.

However, she'd loathe to fight him. He was, after all, her only way of finding her way back home.

* * *

Marcia sat down in her armchair, rubbed her temples with her fingertips. Her head was aching, throbbing even. Time seemed to be passing excruciatingly slow. There were weeks left for the TwoFaced Ring to be able to be destroyed, weeks, and the ring had, Marcia thought, been sending out strange vibes to her. It frightened her.

She pulled her hair back. And Odale hadn't been seen for two weeks. If she'd been taken by rebels, assuming they knew who she were, Marcia would've known by then. Either someone would have told Rodrian, the Emperor, or Marcia herself. Perhaps she was dead, or she'd ran away. Or...

"Stop it," she murmured to herself. Odale couldn't be the only thing on her mind, she had an important work to do. She stood up, again, and strode into her study, looked through her paperwork.

There was tons of it, a neverending stream, and the least exciting part of the job. She begun sorting it into different groups, before doing anything else.

Outside, she heard the voices of two boys, and she sighed with annoyance. "Septimus, I told you to work in the Library, _not _chat with Beetle!" she scolded him, through the door, and the door opened. To her surprise, she saw not Beetle, the newly elected Chief Hermetic Scribe, but Zamir. She was surprised, but still angry. "I told you to work, Septimus," Marcia repeated, then added: "You cannot neglect your responsibilities!"

"It's my fault, Marcia," Zamir replied. "I came here."

"It doesn't matter," Marcia said. "Septimus should have said no."

"But it's about Odale!" Zamir protested. Marcia stopped her pencil midair, before scribbling something onto a piece of paper, blinked. "I think I might be able to find her-"

"You haven't," Septimus commented, "For a week."

Marcia ignored her apprentice's comment, stared at Zamir. "How?" she asked. She, too, had tried many Spells, but none had worked for her. What could Zamir do, that she couldn't? Zamir looked to his feet, as if he was embarrassed, and it frustrated her. She only saw him derailing the conversation. "Tell me!"

"We have this way of communicating, through the mind," Zamir told her. "Like, a connection. I was thinking that if I could reach her, I could ask her where-"

"Has it worked yet?" Marcia wondered.

"Once, I think," Zamir told her. "But it was weird, not as it usually works, I think she was dreaming..."

"Did you talk with her?" Marcia was beginning to feel excited, a rush was running through her. She wanted Odale back, from wherever she was.

"Briefly," Zamir mumbled. "She didn't say where she was though, I only heard her talk. It sounded like she was really far away..."

"Oh," Marcia looked down to her paperwork again. She'd dropped ink, she noticed, and tapped her finger rapidly at it, watched it shrink. "Both of you should go now."

When she woke up, Odale realized that she'd fallen asleep against his shoulder. It didn't matter, she thought. He didn't seem to have noticed, she could just pretend she'd fallen asleep elsewhere.

The child in the family which they'd shared the safe house with approached her. He, it was a small boy, looked curious, and asked her something. "I'm sorry, I don't understand," Odale said, shrugged. The boy blushed, looked down. She smiled apologetically, then remembered the chocolates Alistair had shared with her. There were still some in her bag.

Hastily, she found it, underneath some other stuff, and she got hold of the small box. She grabbed some of the chocolates, gave it to the boy. He looked, she thought, delighted, and said something, she assumed 'thank you'. He ran back over to his parents.

She took one piece of chocolate and then put the box back. Odale glanced back at Alistair, and looked out the window. It was light outside. She should wake him up. However, he seemed to be deeply asleep.

Odale tapped him on the shoulder. "Alistair!" she said, "Wake up."

"No," he murmured sleepily.

"It's light outside!" she snapped. "Get up, or I'll do something horrible."

He opened his eyes, stared at her. "Oh, really?" he said, but rose up. "Have you had breakfast? Are you hungry?"

"Not really, no," Odale said, in a response to both questions. Alistair nodded, in a way of showing his understanding. He even seemed to be feeling the same thing, she noted.

He picked all of his things together, and Odale gathered hers. Together, they gathered the stuff that they shared. "We should leave, now," Alistair said, and then added with a little smile: "I want to go fishing."

* * *

Rodrian was out walking, as he often was. The snow was thawing, he noted, in a way it didn't in the Eastern Snowplains. The slush soiled his shoes with dirt.

He, in contrast to Marcia, had never liked living in the Castle, or the Port, he'd been an outsider. Of course he'd been older than Marcia, she'd been four and he ten already... Their mother had shared his opinion, she'd always been discontent with the situation, too. Rodrian was vaguely aware that if he stopped being a rebel he'd maybe not be able to go back again, it would be too easy for them to find him. The rebels were not many anymore, sure, but they had people in many places, and Rodrian wasn't entirely unknown to them.

"Oh, sorry!" a young man had almost crashed into him, "Wait, I know you."

The young man wore an eyepatch, and Rodrian knew who it was. "Yes, you're my nieces friend," Rodrian replied. He looked to the side, the man stood scarily close to the edge of the water. "I'd not stand so close to the water, if I were you."

"Oh," the man stepped back a step. "And you're her uncle?"

"Yes," Rodrian begun to walk, but the man followed him.

"Weren't you one of the rebels, too?" he asked, going hastily beside Rodrian.

Rodrian stopped. He glared at the man. "How do you know that?" he snapped.

"Odale told me," Zamir answered. "Hey, I think that the rebels do have her..."

He rolled his eyes. "If she was I would know," Rodrian said. He was annoyed by Zamir, he, to Rodrian, seemed far to urgent with him. Plus, he also only brought up what Marcia had said to him earlier, making Rodrian believe that they had spoken... and that Marcia hadn't listened to him. That, or she hadn't updated Zamir about what Rodrian had told her.

"Yeah, maybe," Zamir said. "If they knew who she were."

Rodrian stopped. That, he thought, was a good point. He turned around. "Why would they take her if they didn't know who she was?" Rodrian asked, but he almost knew the answer at once. They just did. They'd taken Runa too... and when he'd married her, he'd basically said that it was okay. "Couldn't she just be dead?"

"No," Zamir shook his head, "No, no, no. I saw her-"

"Saw her?" Rodrian asked, "_Saw?_"

"We have this mind-talk thing," Zamir mumbled. "I tried to use it to find out where she was... didn't work... but she can't be dead!"

Rodrian looked up. "Look, I'll send a letter and see what I can do," he said.

"Why haven't you done that earlier?!" Zamir snapped. "She could've been here by now, then!"

Zamir had narrowed his eyes, folded his arms. Rodrian sighed, massaged his shoulder. "Because I didn't think it was possible," he murmured. "Look, I know that I probably should have asked, but I honestly didn't think-"

"You're detestable," Zamir snapped, walked off hastily, fuming. Rodrian looked after him as he went, wondered if he would be trouble.

* * *

Alistair stood by a whole in the lake, he'd drilled it earlier and told her to shut up and stay still. He, in his hand, was holding a charm in his hand... whenever he saw something, he send it down, stunned whatever he saw and then pulled it up. There was a pile of fish by his feet.

They had enough food and, in Odale's opinion, he was just wasting their time. Alistair knew she thought that, he'd seen in on her face when he told her what he was going to do. Though he didn't understand what she was so eager to get to. He was, later, going to take her to the camp which her father mostly went to. Was she eager to see him?

Something large, dark, but which glimmered in the light passed by underneath him. His heart jumped. Seal! It was a seal! If he'd catch it, it would make his day.

Alistair knew that if there was one of them, there was more and seals, sooner or later, had to breathe. One of them would have to come to the hole he'd made in the ice, to breathe. He looked down into the water. There was another! Quick as lightning, he sent the charm down and he heard it hit, he almost felt it. With magyk, he pulled it up, faster and faster, and soon he had it by his feet. He pulled out his knife, stabbed it in the eye, making sure it was dead.

It's body was beautiful, he noted. It was silvery gray, with white spots, and, on land, a bit clumsy. However, he knew that underneath water it was as grascious, as a dancer. He smiled, excited as a small boy, and turned around. "Did you see?" he asked, "Did you see?"

He spun around, waiting for a snarky reply. Her snarks had annoyed him at first, but they'd grown on him.

She wasn't there. His gut twisted, there was a great hole in the ice where she'd sat down. She'd falled through. He, forgetting the seal, rushed up to it, not understanding how it had happened. The ice was thick! Alistair had made sure of that. Despite loving fishing, he hated deep waters. It scared him.

Alistair sunk down by the hole. "Odie!" he called. "Odie, are you there?"

He bit his tongue, looked down in the water. It was dark, he couldn't see the bottom. Was she there? "Odie?"

* * *

Odale was cold, so cold, she didn't remember feeling anything that even resembled the feeling. She wasn't really _there_, she thought, either. Not entirely conscious. Her chest felt as if it was burning on the inside, tearing almost. Despite that, she felt calm.

She felt somone press their palm repeatedly against her chest, and she was pulled out of her dreamlike state. Odale coughed and spluttered, it felt as if she was coughing up several liters of water. Someone patted her on the head, much to her annoyance, said something soft to her. She didn't understand a word that was said, but felt a blanket beign wrapped around her shoulders. Odale shivered, and looked up. A man looked down on her, he who'd helped her not to drown.

In the distance she heard somone run, and she turned around. Alistair suddenly grabbed her by the shoulder, turned her so that she looked at him. "Where on earth were you?" he hissed. In his hand, he held her bag, and Odale stared at it. "What happened to you?" he asked. She just smiled faintly.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20: Time's Up

* * *

"They pulled me down," Odale mumbled, clutching a wooden cup in her hands, with something steaming hot and sweet in it. "Those things, I don't understand why."

"He says that they were angry," Alistair told her. "The selkin."

She drank the cup's content, and grimaced. It was too sweet, and a bit bitter. Odale put it down, crossed her arms. Sweet, bitter, and thick. She rubbed her lips together. Her throat was feeling thick and hoarse... she was begining to feel ill. Alistair knew that, too. "You'll have to drink it to get better," he told her, "They may all be liars and thieves, but they know how to make medecine."

Odale looked away. _They_, she thought, _helped me. _And she'd never seen any hint of them being either liars, or thieves. She wondered how much Alistair really knew of them. "Why can't we just go?" she asked.

"You'll only get worse," he told her. "It's better if you recover at once."

She swallowed more of the drink. "Why do you hate them?" she asked, trying to keep her mind at something else. Alistair looked away

"You know no history, I suppose?" Odale wanted to point out that the way he said it didn't seem especially correct, but shut her mouth.

* * *

"Hey, Zamir," Septimus said. "Look, Jenna wanted me to give you this."

Zamir turned to see him, took the piece of paper from Septimus's hands. "A party?" he asked. It wasn't something that he usually did, he was never invited. And still he held an invitation from the _princess_ to a party, as if he mattered. He was, though, sure it was just because they felt sorry for her. "What kind?"

Septimus shrugged. He, too, had a habit of making Zamir feel as if he mattered. Not that Septimus really would think he did, Zamir thought. It was the way that Septimus spoke, Zamir thought. "Just a party," he said, "Do you want to go? I can tell Jenna for you."

He blinked. "Yeah, sure," he replied. "Of course."

"It's tonight," Septimus added. "Can you?"

Zamir nodded. "Thank you for inviting me," he replied. "You really didn't need to..."

Almost Odale-like, Septimus rolled his eyes. "No problems," he answered. "And please, don't mention it."

He smiled at Zamir, even though it looked a bit forced, and left. Zamir then returned to his duties, happy that he wouldn't have to be alone for at least another evening.

* * *

"You can't stay here for long, rebel," the man had seemingly come from nowhere, and grabbed Alistair by the arm. Alistair's face twisted into a grimace. As many, if not most, rebels hated the People That Wandered, and the hate was mutual. They had since the founding of the rebels, Alistair wasn't even sure why.

He only knew that all the Wanderers did was to be in the way and sabotage, acting as if _they _somehow were better than everyone else...

"Oh?" he responded, "Are you going to kick us out?"

The man looked much like a crow, with a large, long nose and claw-like fingers. His eyes were deep-set and black, most likely a Necromancer. They gleamed tauntingly at Alistair. "Not her, I don't think so," he replied. "But you... you are much different, since you are a rebel."

"How do you know that she isn't?" Alistair asked the man, and the man laughed. Even his laugh was crow-like.

"Isn't it obvious?" he said. "She speaks only Castelian, acts and talks like a foreigner. Do you think that we are that stupid?"

Alistair shook his head, looked into the small fire that the crow man had lit. He had come into the tent, looking for... whatever. Something usual. He had found nothing, of course, and then the man had entered, laughed his crow-laugh and asked what on earth Alistair was doing there. As if he didn't know. Then told him to sit down, which Alistair did.

Somehow, the man wasn't like the rest of them, and not only because his light skin and darke clothes. He spoke differently, acted differently , dressed differently. It was apparent that he was only there because his wife was one of them, a woman Alistair had seen the night before. A beautiful woman, with black hair and dark skin. "Where did you find her?" the man asked, and Alistair stared at him, confused.

"Who?"

"The girl," the man was still calm, but his cold tone told Alistair he thought he was an idiot. "Where did you take her from?"

Alistair was about to yell at him that he didn't take her from anywhere, she'd _needed _him, but knew it would only cause troubles for himself. "She's from the Castle," Alistair told the crow man. "Why do you care?"

"Maybe she should go back there," the man said, "What has she got to do here, really? Wither in a rebel's camp?"

"I'm taking her there to wait for her father," Alistair replied coldly, "Who's still on a mission in the Castle."

The crow man bit his lip, stared at Alistair. "Really?" he said.

"Why do you care?" Alistair asked. He stood up quickly, brushed his clothes in order, and walked out.

* * *

Odale sat on a carpet, covering the ground under her. A girl was braiding her hair, she spoke very little 'castelian', but they got along very well. She was laughing, for whatever reason. "Ila?" she asked, "What are you doing?"

Ila smiled, handed Odale a pretty, polished metal-piece. She had, Odale could tell, braided a string of colourful beads into her hair. "Thanks," Odale said, smiling.

"Like?" Ila tilted her head to one side, grabbed the end of the braid and tied a bright green string around it. "Do you?"

"Yes," Odale replied. "I like it a lot."

"Like it," Ila repeated, tasting the word. "How you say it, yes?"

Odale nodded, and once again Ila laughed. She seemed easily amused, Odale thought, and her smile was very pretty. Her dimples showed, and you could see her small, pearllike white teeth. Ila pulled a hand through Odale's thick, brown hair, and her hand was so light that Odale almost shivered.

"Odie?" Alistair spoke loudly and she stood up. He had a very demanding voice, she thought as he entered, it was clear that he had some kind of military training. He stood straight, and she unwillingly noticed how well-built he was. "Oh. One of them. Make her leave."

She frowned. "Why?" she asked him. He looked almost perplexed, as if he expected her to do just as he said, because. Embarassed and angered, she blushed. Why would she? Had she sent that signal to him, or was that just what he'd expected from anyone? Whatever he wanted, she felt as if she had to do exactley the opposite. Then, she realixed that she didn't want Ila to go just yet. The shorter girl was just so beautiful, and what if they never met again?

"Why not?" Alistair tossed himself down on a pile of pillows, where Odale had slept recently. Ila tugged at her sleeve and Odale looked at her.

"I should leave?" she wondered, brushing a few of Odale's stray hairs in order. What could she say, really? What if Alistair had something to say, something important? Odale sighed, slightly frustrated.

"Mhm," she said, "But come back later. Please?"

"Yes," Ila took Odale's hand, squeezed it lightly, and walked out. Odale turned her head to look at Alistair, who had interupted her. She narrowed her eyes.

"What is it?" she asked.

The corners of his mouth was slightly bent upwards in a smirk, which Odale felt completely obnoxious. "I didn't think that you would be so, how do you say, taken by anyone like that?" he replied. "But true, she is pretty."

Again, Odale felt herself blush. "Not that," she snapped. "Why did you come here?"

"We have to leave, soon," Alistair said, looking less amused. "I don't think they mind _you_, but me... I'm a rebel, they hate me."

"But you said we couldn't, because I'm sick!" Odale protested.

"You're better now," Alistair stated, and it was true. After whatever it was they had given her, Odale felt much better. Her nose was still runny, but everything else was as close to fine as it could get, she thought. "Odie, think of your father."

Odale didn't think of Rodrian. Instead, she thought about Marcia, her mother and Zamir. Mostly Marcia. Were they even worried? No one had come looking for her, Odale thought sadly. Not that it was easy, she was very far away, but still. No one? By then, Marcia had to have figured out where Odale was... with the rebels sneaking all about, there had to be only one conclusion. Unless, of course, they thought that she was dead. Or unless someone else had appeared. Still, why had no one come looking for her?

Maybe, Odale thought, if they got to one of these rebels camps, she could send a letter to Rodrian. Alistair thought he was her father, why couldn't the rest of them? If she did, Rodrian would know, if he didn't already, and then he could tell Marcia. And if Marcia knew, assuming she did not already, maybe she could send someone, _anyone_, to get her.

Suddenly, she felt much more excited. "Of course," she said."We should. But when?"

Alistair smiled, again. "What about tomorrow? Or maybe the day after that?"

She nodded.

* * *

Maybe, Septimus thought, Zamir just wanted to be alone. The other boy stood by himself, leant up against a wall. His hair was, as usually, tied up in a tail and he wore his eyepatch. Septimus felt bad for him, he seemed very, very lonely. Even when Odale was there he was. Maybe it was about the **Curse**, was it that that made him turn away?

"Septimus, don't stare," Jenna said. He quickly turned his head.

"I didn't," he lied. "I was only..."

Jenna rolled her eyes. "Go to Rose, instead, Sep," she said. "She seems bored. I can talk to Zamir, instead of you staring at him."

"Oh," Septimus looked down. "Sure."

* * *

Zamir looked up when Jenna approached him. Her hair was braided, he noticed, and he hadn't seen her that way ever before. "Hi," she said.

"Hello," he replied.

"You look a bit lonely," Jenna told him. "How's it going?"

He tried to smile at her. "Great," he told her, "Great, I'm just tired."

She leant against the wall, right beside him and he looked away. "Haven't you talked to anyone yet?" she asked. It was sweet that she cared, Zamir thought, but why? Why him, why then? Really, he wished he'd stayed home. Maybe he could've tried to get to Odale, but no. He had to go to the party.

Zamir shook his head. "Not now," he said.

"Maybe you should," Jenna said gently.

"We're talking, right?" he retorted. She laughed.

* * *

**(A/N Do people agree with the anon saying my chapters are getting worse and worse? If so, please do tell me, by review or PM. I really wish that if this is the case, people would have told me long ago. I can't do anything to what people dislike if I don't know what they dislike. ****Now that it has been pointed out to me, tho, I will try to wrap it up a bit better. _But _if you read it for the characters from the original series and don't want many OCs I suggest you look elsewhere, as there are going to be many of them. If somehow this wasn't clear, I apologize for that.**

**Also, I'm back from Japan, obviously. **


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Ambush

* * *

Lorea stood facing the mirror, braiding her hair. Her mother's bathroom was very big, and also very bright. The mirror, too, was large and from the corner of her eyes she saw Dextus sneak in and lean against the wall. "Hello," she said and he jumped.

He pulled a hand over her arm and she spun around. "What is it?" she continued, and he smiled towards her, though she didn't think it reached his eyes quite.

"I have to go," he told her softly. She frowned, but laughed a little.

"Why?" she asked him. He tucked one of her stray hairs behind her ear, kissed her on the forehead. She wrapped her arms around him hard. "When?"

"As soon as I can," he answered. "I have to. You know, my work."

Lorea didn't want to let him go. Instead, she stood on her toes and leant her cheek to his neck. He carefully caressed her back and she shut her eyes. "You could come with me," he added, and pulled away, held her an armlength away. Lorea froze.

Of course she'd like to, but she was aware that she couldn't. Her mother, she had noticed, never slept well, nor did she eat well. Her mother insisted it was her usual habits, but Lorea suspected that it had something, if not all, to do with Odale. She could never leave her mother, her very own mother, alone in that state. "I can't," she replied. "Mother..."

"Then take her, too," Dextus said. "Just come with me, please."

She shook her head. "I am so sorry, I just can't," his hand, which he'd once again stretched out towards her face, was dropped to his side. He looked down, stared at their feet, only inches away. His feet were bare, not at all how men in the Eastern Snowplains usually dressed. Lorea was confused that he, who seemed to love the Snowplaininan culture, didn't dress traditionally.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and turned around. "Maybe I shouldn't have..."

"Wait!" she pleaded. "Dextus, please, we could talk it over."

Dextus stopped. "Say it again," he pleaded.

"Please, wait," she told him. "I-I'll see what I could do, okay? Maybe it could work."

But still, she couldn't leave her mother. It was only to humour him, to make him not leave her that she said it. He smiled a weak smile, and Lorea, with her hair braided, walked out of the bathroom, only to find her mother sitting with her face cradled in her hands.

Cashmére was shaking, and for a moment Lorea thought it was about her and Dextus, that she would possibly leave. Then, she understood it was about Odale.

"Mother?" she said softly, and Cashmére looked up, briefly. Her face was puffy and red from tears, and she quickly turned her face away again. She clasped her hands together and brought them to her mouth, not saying anything. "Mother, what is it?"

"Nothing," Cashmére retorted, far too quickly and rose. "Lunch, I'm sure you're hungry... I'll make some."

Lorea grabbed her mother by the arm. "Sit down," she told her mother, "Mum, you're upset. Sit down and breathe."

Her mother did not, instead she wailed and hid her face in her hands, once again. She kept on mumbling and sobbing, and all Lorea could do was to lift her mother back on to the couch. Cashmére, to Lorea's big surprise, clung to Lorea's shoulder, sobbing into it. "Sorry, I'm so sorry..." she whispered, over and over again, and instead of asking why, Lorea only patted her gently on the head. It was then that she truly realized that she definetley couldn't leave.

* * *

In the morning, Alistair woke her up by grabbing her wrist, making her stand up. "Quick, quick," he told her, "Change your clothes."

Odale caught a glimpse of the sky outside, it was still darke. She moved away from him, sat down, shutting her eyes. "Do we have to go now?" she asked him. "It's barely morning."

For whatever reason, he pulled his red cloak from his shoulders and swept it around her. It smelled like him, not so strangely, and his sweat. Odale protested, but he pulled her up and out of the tent before she could protest, grabbing her small bag with her belongings on the way out. "It's urgent," he told her. "Rebels are here."

"Rebels?" she was confused, for a second. Then she saw the fires. Many, if not most, of the tents were on fire and she was surprised that she had not heard the screaming. Everyone seemed to scream, it rung in her ears. People were pouring out of the tents, and out on the great plains only to be met by soldiers on large horses, wielding spears.

Odale didn't know in what direction to look, but didn't have to worry about it as Alistair pulled her away, hard. She was horrified, almost disgusted, that he seemed to be so untouched by what he saw. "What's happening?" she breathed.

"What does it look like?" he snapped, and she still didn't know where he was taking her.

"A massacre," she told him coolly. He turned to glare at her, only for a few seconds.

"Here," he told her, grabbed her and lifted her by the waist.

"Hey!" she said, and he chuckled as he lifted her onto a horse. "Alistair, what's happening?"

He looked, she thought, oddly symphatetic, perhaps because her voice had sounded so whiny. Gently, he pulled a hand over her arm. "We have to go now," he said. "It's going to be okay."

* * *

She was, Dextus thought, remarkably soft. He held her tighter, and she let out a muffled noise. To make sure Lorea wasn't actually hurt, he let her go. "Love?" he asked.

"My ribs," she said. "I have those, too, remember?"

Dextus laughed uneasily, pulled a hand through his hair. "I'm going now," he told her slowly. Her face turned stiff, and she took his hand. There was a huge contrast between the two of them, he noted. Lorea was so dark, and he was pale like milk, and her hands were soft, just like her. And her fingers were bare, unlike his, which were covered with rings in different shapes and sizes.

She locked eyes with him. "For good?" she asked. "Like you said before?"

"I don't know," he said.

He'd left before. His little brother, he'd been two. Never looked back, but he'd regretted himself horribly ever since. Now, it was too late. What could he ever tell him, if they ever met? Oh, I'm your big brother who left you. Nice meeting you again. "What do you mean with 'don't know'?" she said.

"Are you coming with me, or not?" he wondered.

"I can't," she said, without heistation. That hurt. "Mother needs me, and she'll never leave."

Dextus twisted his face into a grimace. "Then not yet," he told her.

* * *

"Who is this?" the Stranger was a take no nonsense kind of man, which in many ways was good. However, Alistair thought, his tone was something that Alistair hated. "Or rather," the Stranger smirked a little, "Who is she for?"

"This is Overstrand's daughter," Alistair responded dryly, and he noticed how Odale flinched as her last name was mentioned. "I'm taking her back to the camp."

"Is this true?" the Stranger looked to Odale, who of course didn't understand a word that had been said, save her last name. "Speak!"

"She only speaks castelian," Alistair snapped. "She grew up in the Castle, Overstrand left the girl with her mother."

"Hmm," to Alistair's knowledge the Stranger didn't speak any Castelian. "Very well. Don't get to close with her, I can imagine Rodrian wouldn't like that."

"Knock it off," Alistair said angrily. The Stranger laughed, and walked off. He, most likely, had prisoners to take care off. Alistair kicked the horse, a brown one which was smaller than the one he'd ridden before, in the sides, lightly, allowing it to follow the smaller group which, instead of taking prisoners with them, had begun to head back to their camp.

"What did he say?" she asked him, and he almost flinched. Odale had yelled and she had cried at him about the attack, furious that he hadn't done anything. She, however, seemed to have calmed down enough to talk like a reasonable person.

"Nothing special," he asnwered shortly. He didn't even understand what the big deal was. She didn't know the people, what did it matter to her?

"Where are we going?" she inquired. Once or twice, Alistair thought, she must have interrogated someone. She kept asking him as if he was an encyklopedia.

"I told you," he snapped at her. "A rebels camp."

"But _where?_" she said, seemingly annoyed.

"We say Fort Highpoint," Alistair replied. "It's not too far from here, I don't think that the Wanderers knew about that."

Odale turned quiet.

* * *

She swore to herself in her head. Then again and again. The mountains? In the mountains? How on earth was she supposed to get out of there? Odale pulled her hair. Maybe she shouldn't have even talked to Alistair, it was stupid. She should have hit him and ran, far far and then figured things out from there. Now, that would be hard. Especially since they thought that she was Rodrian's daughter.

Odale sat down behind him on the horse, but she had to hold onto him tight so that she did not fall off. His cloak was still on her shoulders, and she still wore her nighttime clothes from the camp. She peeked back, but couldn't see the people anymore. Was Ila okay? She'd seen someone get pierced by a spear, had that happened to her, too?

Don't think about it, she thought to herself. Don't even think...

"How far away is it from here?" she asked him. Her voice was still a little hoarse from yelling at him, and she almost felt a little bit bad that she had yelled at him. What did he have to do with the whole thing, really? Except from being one of them, of course.

"Half a day, I'd say," Alistair replied, looking up at the mountains. "Not too far. And then, of course, the horses has to rest..."

Odale pursed her lips. She'd like to be there as quick as possible, so that she could get away as quick as possible.

* * *

Zamir sat outside the Wizard Tower, on the stairs leading up to the big entrance. In his hand he held a small glass figurine in green, red and warm yellow, which had the shape of a girl. He'd found in on the Wizard Way, swept in a small piece of cloth, as if giftwrapped for him. It looked as if it came from the Southern Deserts, the way the girl was depicted as if wrapped in colourful cloth. She was very detailed, with a small but plum nose and mouth, and large eyes and even tiny ears. The folds on her clothes were elegant, she even seemed real to him. Zamir wondered who'd made it, and if they had used Magyk.

As he was moving the figurine from hand to hand, he saw a creature sneak by, far by the great arch. It was wearing very dark clothes, and they were very wide and flowy. By the looks of it, it was a witch. Zamir stood up. A Port witch, possibly, but what buisniss did a witch have walking by the Wizard Tower and heading up the Wizard Way late at night?

Quietly, he followed the figure, who seemed to be in a hurry, marching with long strides. Was he only paranoid, or was it something that was not right? Zamir kept sneaking after, but slower and was careful to stay in the shadows, so that if the figure turned it was less likely to see him.

The figure itself made no attempt to sneak or stay hidden, which, but only for a moment, made him believe that maybe he was just worrying over nothing. But that was when the figure snuck in through the Palace gate, which was always open.

Zamir murmured a quick invisibilityspell, and hurried after it.

He pursued the figure, and was now very close, close enough to notice that it was a femenine figure. An adult one too, he noted, around maybe fourty or fifty years of age. It was a witch too, now he was certain, and a Darke one at that. He could feel it in the air, on his skin, and it made his Cursed eye roll wildly. The witch stopped, and so did Zamir. First, he thought that she'd noticed her, but it quickly turned out not to be the case. Instead, the witch turned her head towards the Palace Landing Stage.

Then, he saw why the witch was there. Jenna sat by the landing. He could see her, even there. Of course. He cursed himself. Even he could've seen that coming. However, he kept stalking the figure as it made it's way up to the Landing.

Jenna turned around and she saw the witch, opened her mouth to scream, but the witch snapped her fingers and there came no noise. At once, Zamir tackled the witch, who hit the ground and screamed. He was still invisible, and both Jenna and the witch looked confused. Zamir recodnized the witch as the Witch Mother, leader of the Port Witch Coven. The spell that the Witch Mother had cast on Jenna disappeared, and she screamed, understandably. The Witch Mother shoved Zamir of off her and he lost concentration, making him visible again.

The Witch Mother laughed when she saw him. "I knew that Laurine had turned soft," she said, "But you, Zamir? You too? Dear child, I might've known."

Zamir bared his teeth, hurled a Thunder Stun at her. The Witch Mother seemed ready to hurl herself at him, but then someone came running. She stopped, looked around, very pale. Then, she disappeared.

"Jenna?" Zamir said. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Jenna replied, "My goodness, thank you!"

He smiled at her, made a fake bow to her. "Anything for your Highness," he told her, jokingly. "I'll walk you back to the-"

"Jenna!" it was Milo, Zamir saw. Instead, he gave Jenna a reassuring pat on the shoulder and turned around to walk back to the Wizard Tower, leaving her with her father. Then, there came another voice from behind him.

"Zamir?"

"Madam Marcia?" Zamir felt confused. Shouldn't Marcia be in her rooms? What was she doing by the Palace? It was none of his buisniss, however, and he looked at her.

"What on earth happened?" she asked him, brushing her hair back from her face. She had ran, he realized, and smiled a little. "Did you see?"

"It was a witch," Jenna told Marcia, in his stead. "Zamir hit her down..."

"Oh," Marcia looked at him, with a worried frown. "Good, then."

Zamir could guess what she was thinking. The Witch Mother had just walked right in, and it didn't make anyone feel any safe. A little strange, Zamir thought, considering how Jenna's mother was murdered. "I'll walk Jenna back to the Palace," Milo said, glancing at Marcia, holding an arm over his daughters shoulders. Jenna didn't look entirely comfortable.

"Alright," Marcia replied. "I'll go back to the Tower. Zamir, are you coming with me?"

"Of course," he said.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22: Discovery

* * *

They arrived, as Alistair had predicted, after lunch. Odale's stomach growled, she had only had a piece of bread that a rebel had given to her, on the demand of Alistair. It, however, hadn't been enough.

Alistair helped her down from the horse, she landed on hard stone floors. Odale peeked out the small windows on the sides. The stable seemed to stand dangerously balanced on the mountain side, and she was amazed at the view. For as far as she could see, all she saw was white snow, and some rocks and mountainsides. The sky was clear blue, and for a second she almost forgot the horrible sight she'd seen that morning. Almost. "Come on," Alistair told her. "Let's get some food."

She followed him, out into a narrow corridor. He, quite obviously, had been there many times. Odale clutched her bag, the little home she had left, hard in her arms. She still wore the nightgown Ila had borrowed her, and people stared. Or, she thought, maybe they didn't stare at her nightgown, but they stared because she did not belong. Even with the cloak around her shoulders.

"It's not far," Alistair promised her. "Just a turn and then another-"

He was interupted by a child's happy shrieking. "Ali!" a child cried, and Odale saw a small child leap onto Alistair. "Ali! Ali!"

It was more of a bundle than a child, Odale noted and smiled. Alistair held the child in his arms, kissing the small child all over the head, saying words in that language that Odale didn't understand. A woman, tall and red-headed, came to greet him, too. She hugged him hard, and because they were so alike she assumed that they were siblings.

As the little family reunited, she just stood there, watching, almost getting a bit emotional. She, too, wanted to see her family.

Alistair turned to her, pointed at her, and said some words to his sister. Probably explaining. She could somehow hear her last name, and she smiled at the sister. "This is my sister," Alistair told her. "Irma."

Odale nodded, smiling, saying some of the words that she'd been taught. Irma laughed, and Odale blushed. Had she said something wrong? Alistair said something in return, through a smile, and then he grabbed Odale by the arm and pulled her with him. The sister lifted her son onto her hip, and walked after. Alistair and his sister spoke and laughed, and Odale felt more left alone than what she had before.

* * *

Witches, Marcia thought. Of course. She wandered back and forth in her study, thinking intensively. Maybe she should have thought of that earlier. The Witches, the Port Witches to be more specific, had had ties with DomDaniel. Besides, what if they knew of her heritage? Not that she was of much vaule to the actual Eastern Snowplainians, they most likely wouldn't care. She was too far from having an actual claim on the Snowplainian throne. To someone who didn't understand the Snowplainian politics, maybe she would seem worth very much, and Marcia supposed that there were few witches from the Port being aware of how the line of succession in that distant country.

Could the Witches, Marcia thought, have held Odale for a month? Or had they done what Marcia didn't dare to think of, had they perhaps sold her of to someone else? Rebels, perhaps? And right under her nose... how stupid she felt!

The more she thought of it, the more real it seemed to her. If they wanted to take Jenna, why wouldn't they take Odale, too? The Eastern Snowplains were much larger than the Castle and Little Wetlands. It was an entire empire.

Guilt begun to build up within her. She'd let the poor girl go out too much, when she shouldn't have. Even when the girl had fought, she should have told her to stay home. Look now what had happened, when she hadn't listened to her own instincts! She stopped for a second, putting her hand over the bridge of her nose. But what could she do? Storm the Port Witches house? Marcia paused for a second. That was, almost, what she was going to do.

* * *

Odale scrubbed herself clean with a bathbrush, trying to get rid off the dirt. Her arms and legs were sore after, but she felt clean. She thought she'd never felt that clean in her hole life. Irma had, very kindly taken the clothes which she had stuffed in her bag, and promised to clean them as soon as she could.

Until then, she had put clothes on the small, padded stool in the bathroom. Odale dressed quickly, when she was done. The blouse was slightly too big for her, and she thought it looked a bit weird on the front. With it she wore a skirt, which was too long for her, and also wide. She had to wrap the orange piece of fabric around her waist to keep it up, but she guessed it was supposed to be that way. She paused, and looked on the edge of the fabric. It was embroidered, she thought, but she couldn't see exactley what it was supposed to look like.

She hastily put her hair up in a ponytail and returned to Alistair. He was resting on the couch, but looked up when she entered. He laughed at her, and she felt like sinking through the floor. Why did he do that? "You look like anyone," he told her, laughing. "Have you seen yourself?"

"I guess they're okay, don't you think so?" Odale snapped.

"Yes, yes, very okay," he said. He smiled. "Now, it's my turn to wash. The dinner will be ready, soon."

He patted her on the shoulder before he left for the bathroom. She sat down in an armchair, leant back down. It wasn't comfortable at all and Odale groaned. In that moment, she'd do anything to be home again. She stood up. Instead of sitting down, she stood by the window. It was minimal, and frosted over, but she whispered a short re-heat Spell and she could see out. The snowfall had stopped, and she could see a large group of people, moving towards the fort.

Odale didn't think much of it. Instead, she watched the sky. It was turning orange, the sun was already setting. Night already. For how long had she been gone? Odale had counted around two weeks, a few days more or less. Had no one noticed? Or didn't they care?

She looked away from the window. Her cheeks were red with frustration, she'd never felt that left alone before.

* * *

"Mar!" at first, she hadn't realized that anyone meant her, but when Rodrian took her by the arm, she flinched. "Marcia, why are you here?"

For a short few seconds, Marcia wasn't sure how to respond. No one ever said Mar to her, anymore, and she wasn't used to it. She quickly looked around, making sure that no one had heard the old nickname of hers. When she thought no one had, she lowered her voice. "Rodrian," she said, not very gingerly. "You know I am the ExtraOrdinary. Going places is part of my _job_."

"Aha," said Rodrian, almost in an uninterested tone. "That didn't answer my question."

Marcia clenched her jaw, she'd forgotten how quick he was at catching her avoid conversation. Of course, he'd had years of practice. "It's confidential," she replied shortly.

"No, it's not," he told her. "What is all this secrecy about?"

"What are you going to do, hit me?" Marcia snapped. Rodrian went quiet. He seemed embarassed, as he should.

"I'm so sorry, Marcia," he said lowly. She narrowed her eyes, like a cat pulled it's ears back when it was annoyed. Rodrian decided to back off. "Look, I don't mean anything rude. Just know that if you need help, I'm here, alright?"

Marcia paused. She thought for a little while, and then she nodded. "I have this feeling that Odale might be around here, somewhere," Marcia said. "I just want to be sure..."

"I haven't seen her," Rodrian said.

"Well, I didn't mean... voluntarily," Marcia replied, "I don't want to rule out any possibility, you know. I haven't heard anything for weeks."

Rodrian saw how torn she was. He softly brushed her over the shoulder, and to her big surprise she didn't flinch. Instead, she shook her head. People could see, and she didn't want them to see her vulnerable like that. "Marcia, I understand what you feel," he told her, but she somehow doubted it. "Tell me what it is you want to do, and I will help you."

"Thank you," Marcia said.

* * *

"It's dinner," Alistair said. She had fallen asleep, she realized, as she sat up. It was now dark outside, she saw, and rubbed her head, the armrest had probably not been to kind to it. "Sleepyhead."

Odale grunted in response. He took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet, for whatever reason. "We have... a bit of a guest?" for a second, he sounded insecure. "He speaks Castelian, like you, but don't offend him. He's a bit of a big deal. Eridiah Beth, you know who he is, right?"

"Not really, no," Odale replied. "Should I?"

Alistair chuckled at her. "You probably should," he said. "But I'm sure he won't mind."

The name Eridiah Beth didn't strike Odale as especially bad or menacing, but still it sent a shiver down her spine. Maybe she had heard the name before, and just didn't remember it clearly. Had her mother ever mentioned him? Probably not, her mother didn't really talk about the specifics of the Eastern Snowplains. "Come on," he said, "Let's eat."

He nudged her in the direction of the kitchen. The sister's small child was already eating, and the sister herself was serving an older man. The older man looked up at Odale, and it wasn't until then that Odale realized that he was badly scarred. His entire face had been burnt sometime in the past, she realized, and almost shuddered. But then, she remembered what Alistair had said.

She smiled at the old man, bowed her head a little bit. "Hello," she said.

The old man looked at her briefly, then looked to Alistair, said something to him. "You must be the daughter," Eridiah said, in the same accent as Alistair had. "I never imagined you as that... do you say scrawny?"

Alistair said something, a little annoyed. Eridiah laughed. "Excuse me, miss, if I hurt you, it wasn't my intention," he said, perhaps in response to what Alistair had said.

"No, no, it's okay," Odale replied, with a small smile. Alistair pulled out a chair for her and she sat down, her hands in her lap. His sister put a wooden bowl in front of her. "Kiitos."

The sister laughed, patted Alistair on the back and said something that Odale, once again, didn't understand. Odale was becoming frustrated, she hated not knowing what everyone around her said. It fueled her homesickness. "Do you know how your father is?" Eridiah asked her curiously. "Is he well?"

"I suppose so," Odale answered. "He's with my aunt right now, last I heard."

"Must be difficult with your aunt," Eridiah said. "She, herself, is very difficult, I think."

Odale bit her tounge in an attempt to not lash out. Eridiah didn't even know her! However, she didn't want to fight him. She had a feeling that it would not be good for her, if she did. Instead, she returned to her meal.

* * *

"Should we knock?" Rodrian asked Marcia. He was standing behind her, on the steps to the Witch Coven's home. Marcia was barely even willing to call it a home, but she supposed that the witches had a different opinion. She thought hard, for a few seconds. Then nodded. She reached and knocked hard on the door, using the small, cold iron door knocker. It took a long time, too long, Marcia thought, before the door opened.

Linda, a smallish-built witch with shoes that even Marcia found a bit odd, opened the door. She narrowed her eyes, glared at Marcia. "And what do you want?" she snarled.

"We're looking for our niece," Rodrian said, before Marcia got the chance. Linda laughed.

"And why should I do that?" she asked him coldly. "What do I gain from it?"

Marcia jumped when Rodrian pulled a long, thin sword from it's scabbard. "Your neck in one piece, firstly," he told Linda, now standing in front of Marcia. Linda snorted, snapped her fingers and a glowing orb flew quickly towards Rodrian. Before Marcia could react, Rodrian wavered the sword and the orb disintergrated on the blade. Linda blinked.

Rodrian put the blade to Linda's neck. "So?" he said, "Aren't you going to ask us in?"

Linda swallowed hard. "Of course," she replied, "O-of course, please do."

He shoved her inside, pushing her to a wall, held her there with one hand, and pressed the point of his sword against her neck. "Now," he said, "My sister has a suspiscioun that you might now where our niece is. Do you?"

Linda glanced at Marcia. "Who is he talking about?" she asked. Marcia felt slightly ill. Rodrian scared her, showing the rebelside that she'd rather not see he had.

"My apprentice," Marcia answered, thinking it was all necessary. A necessary evil, so to speak, but still the witch looked so horrified... "Odale."

"Laurine?" Linda breathed. "I haven't seen her, I swear..."

Rodrian pressed the point against her neck, Marcia could see a small trail of crimson blood run down. "Rodrian, stop it," she said. "Stop it!"

Her brother stopped, let the witch go. He looked at her, she couldn't decipher his expression. "I don't think they have her," Marcia replied, "I read her thoughts, they seem honest..."

Linda was breathing heavily, looking from Marcia to Rodrian. She held her hand to the very small wound on her pale neck. Marcia didn't want to, but she felt sympathy for her. The feeling of a sword to one's neck was horrifying. Besides, she didn't want to torture _anyone_. Maybe she should have thought of that before bringing Rodrian. "Let's leave, Rodrian," she said, "We have what we came for."

She walked out, with Rodrian hard on her heels. "Mar?" he said, "Mar, what is it?"

Marcia held her palm over the bridge of her nose, her head ached. Rodrian had her sit down, and he knelt down in front of her. "Mar?" he shook her lightly, "Mar!"

"They're friends," Marcia replied, "Odale, and the witch. Goodness..."

* * *

She had been left alone with the old man. Alistair had left to look for something, and the sister Odale supposed was doing the dishes. Eridiah eyed her, up and down. Why did he stare? What on earth had she done? "I just need to go to the bathroom," she said, stood up. He rapidly, like a snake, snatched her wrist, held it surprislingly tight. She gasped. Odale almost thought her wrist would snap, like a small twig.

"I know who you are," he whispered. She froze, almost not daring to breathe. "You were DomDaniel's apprentice."

Odale took a deep, almost relieved breath. "How... how did you know?" she asked him.

"I saw you once," he told her. "You were a little girl, then. Asleep. I wonder how Rodrian's not-so-precious daughter got there?"

"My mother-"

"You're not his daughter," Eridiah snapped. "I suppose that you are, however, related to him. There's something in your features that remind me of him... You also look a bit like someone I knew back when I was young. A woman. She married the current Emperor, they had a child and then she... tragically died."

Odale's gut tightened. "Their daughter," Eridiah stood up, still holding Odale's wrist, "Married your supposed father's brother... they had one child, which died, and then the daughter was pregnant again. Alas, she dissappeared, almost fifteen years ago. The question is where her child went..."

She tore away. "Is that you?" he asked her, "You can tell me. Don't you trust me?"

He stood up too, a bit shaky. Could she push him down and run away? Would he stand? "Erianna was my friend," Eridiah continued, "Sure, I stabbed her in the gut-"

"I don't understand any of this," Odale felt that her voice was shaky. "Please, leave me alone. I'm not who you're looking for."

"Yes, you are," he told her. He stretched out a hand, touched her hair and she flinched. "You're exactley what I'm looking for. You have a certain... sentimental value."

She fell, just like timber.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23: The Offer

* * *

_She sat down, swept the long, pearlblue skirt out of her way as she sat down. Zamir didn't recognize her, at first. Her hair was put up in a way that it never was, it was too elaborate, would take to much patience for her to complete. The green eyes were lined with kohl, and the already dark lips were darker. "Zam," Odale said, "Zamir, I miss you so much." _

_"__I miss you too," he replied. "So much. Where are you?" _

_"__You're not real," she stared at him. "I know you're not real." _

_Already, he was feeling frustrated. Once again, she was sliping away and he couldn't do it again. He couldn't let her go again. "I am, I am, I am," he insisted furiously. "Please, just say where you are, please. I just want to know, everyone is worried." _

_Odale pursed her lips. "Then why is no one looking for me?" she wasn't slipping away anymore, but looked very puzzled. "Do you even care?" _

_"__I do," he told her. "I do, I care a lot... you're my best friend. Just tell me where you are. I can help you, if you help me."_

_The pearlclad top she was wearing was changing, into some grey, boring tunic. "Isn't it easy?" she said, "I'm in a rebel's camp." _

_"Rebel's camp?" he didn't understand the words at first. She stood closer, for the first time he was able to reach her. Really reach her. Even though he didn't. "Where is that?" _

_"I'm not sure," the kohl wasn't there anymore, nor were the lips so dark. She looked like she usually did. He hadn't realized how much he missed her, how much he really wanted to see her face again. In reality. "The Eastern Snowplains, somewhere. Zamir, if this is real, how are you talking to me?" _

_"Our mind-connection Spell, you know the one we did way back? It's that one," he replied. "Odale, the Eastern Snowplains are pretty big. Do you have a name, or anything? Something small?" _

_She paused, bit her lip, seemingly thought hard. "We were at some village, a while ago, but I forgot the name," she said at last. "Now, we're in some mountain range. They call it Fort Highpoint, I think they call it the Sirmiq mountains or whatever. I don't know. Tell Marcia, she'll ask Rodrian and Rodrian ought to know something." _

_"Good," he replied. "How are you, otherwise? Are you hurt?" _

_"I don't think so," suddenly she looked a bit worried. "I don't know, I blacked out. This guy... he... knew things about me. Now, I don't know what to do..."_

_"I'll talk to Marcia, see what she can do," Zamir said. "Until then-"_

_"No!" she exclaimed, "Zamir, don't go. Please, don't go." _

_He stopped, pulled his hand over her arm. "You'll be okay," he told her softly. "I know that you will, alright?" _

_"Alright," she mumbled._

* * *

Odale sat up, shivering. He'd left her alone, she thought. Zamir had left her alone, even when she'd said that he shouldn't. She frowned, wrapped her arms around herself. The cell she'd woken up in was somehow ice cold, she was for once freezing. Where was she? In a cell, of course, but _where?_ It was tiny, like a cupboard, with a small bed and window. Odale looked out. She was a bit closer to the ground, but it was still very far. There would be no chance of climbing down there, Odale thought to herself, nor was the window big enough to get out off. She whined. What was going to happen to her?

She turned to the door, opposite of the window. It was heavy, of some dark kind of wood that Odale did not recognize, and strenghtened with metal. She wasn't sure a dragon could escape the cell. Still, she threw herself against it, hard. Nothing happened, except there was a loud bang, and she fell on her back, hitting her elbow. Odale grunted. There was no way she'd get out, without help, she thought. It was, of course, Magykally sealed. She couldn't even light a little fire. The reason why Zamir had reached her, she thought, had to be that he came from the outside. Or, perhaps, she had become delirious. Odale thought that the latter seemed more realistic.

Still laying on her back, she stared into the ceiling. It was cracked, the cracks formed a pattern, almost looking like a tree. She imagined that it had had leaves, once, but that they had fallen off. Slowly, she shut her eyes, thinking that maybe she should go back to sleep again. However, that was interrupted. There was someone, on the other side of the door, dragging something across it. It startled her, and she jumped to her feet. On the other side, someone laughed, a hoarse laugh. It was the typical 'I'm going to hurt you'-routine, Odale thought. Trying to startle her, and then as to tell her that she was ridiculous, laugh. It was, however, not a game that only one could play. "I can see you," it was Eridiah, she could hear by the voice, and she forgot most of the bravery that she had gathered. "You're very pretty to be his granddaughter."

"Of course," he continued, "You're Erianna's granddaughter, too, and she was a sight to behold."

He laughed again. "Aren't you a bit old to be looking at teenagers?" Odale snapped, sitting down on the small bed.

"Perhaps," Eridiah said, "But can't I notice beauty?"

Odale was quiet. She looked towards the window. "What is it that you want?" she asked him, instead. The door opened, and the old man entered, sitting down beside her. He made her feel ill, physically ill. "Why are you keeping me here?"

"We can solve this in a couple of ways," he told her. "Either, you don't help me and you stay in this cell. Keep in mind that I don't mind you rotting. However, there are some people that would, I believe."

"What's the other choice?" Odale asked.

"Oh," Eridiah said, "You help me get to the Emperor. You help me kill him. I know you can do that, as far as I've heard you're a good assassin."

Odale pressed her lips together, not loving to be reminded of that by a complete stranger. "Do I get to think about it?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"Your uncle jumped at the chance of getting back at Tantibus," Eridiah told her. "Of course you grew up in different circumstances, and all that, but-"

"It was a hint to make you leave," Odale snarked. "So leave!"

He stood up, smirking, and swept out, with his long red cloak. Odale wrapped her arms around her legs, thinking hard about what she could do.

* * *

In the morning, Rodrian received a letter. A very short and hastily scribbled one, he thought, and the messengerbird was exhausted. He gently patted it on the head as he read through the message. It was from another rebel, Dolk, but he was no one important. Though he often did things like sending messages for people like Eridiah, Alistair, and Rodrian himself.

_Rodrian,_

_Your daughter is Here, safe, living with the Hassars for the moment. We thought you should know, so that you don't worry. _

_Dolk_

It wasn't too strange, Rodrian thought, that the letter was so short. But his daughter? He didn't have a daughter. Not a daughter that was born, at least. Could Dolk have sent it, meaning someone else? He was getting a bit confused. The more Rodrian thought, however, the more it made sense. Couldn't Odale somehow have gotten onto a rebel's ship, and then posed as his daughter? As far as Rodrian could tell, that was more realistic. Perhaps he should talk to Marcia.

He neatly folded the letter together, but Dolk had already smudged the ink when he sent the letter. Gingerly, he put it in his pocket. Rodrian ran a hand through his hair, the same moment he felt someone lean against his other arm. Runa, of course. She hugged him from the side, tightly. "What is it about?" she asked him. Distraught, he pushed her red hair back from her face.

"My niece, I think," he told her. "She must be in trouble, the poor girl, or at least think that she is."

He had to admit, he felt a little bit anxious for her. The rebels, if they found out who she was, most likely wouldn't treat her very nicely. Rodrian pressed his lips together. It would be just typical that his other niece was caught, when he'd saved the other one sixteen years earlier. Suddenly, he didn't feel so calm, instead he was restless.

Odale was clever, he told herself, she could make it, easy. He, however, couldn't for a minute underestimate the rebels. They were clever, too. "Are you going to help her?" Runa asked him softly. Rodrian pressed his lips hard together.

"I'm not sure how, yet," he answered. "But if I can, I will."

Rodrian begun to dress himself. Marcia should see the letter, he thought, she deserved it. Besides, she would be furious with him if he didn't. Runa sat down in an armchair nearby, taking a deep breath, Rodrian saw her from the corner of his eye. She was still wearing her nightgown, a long, white thing. "What was it that you wanted?" he asked her, as soft as he could, hoping he didn't sound rude.

She laughed. "Wanted?" she asked him, "What would I want?"

"You snuck up on me like someone would wants something," he told her. "Well, do you want something?"

"Well, I don't," she said shortly, but then added, a little bit hesitantly, "Maybe an apple, or two? If you could find one this time of the year."

Rodrian knew that he probably could. "If that's what you want," he said, and fastened his longer, dark cloak with a needle. "I'm going now."

Runa nodded, as to give him her liking.

* * *

He had to tell Marcia. Zamir had reached Odale, and now he had to talk to Marcia about it. He had planned on mentioning it earlier, but he'd never reached Odale, so he didn't see why he should. Now that he had reached Odale, he should say something. But what? Perhaps, he thought, he should have said something earlier. Maybe she would be angry with him. Marcia did deserve to know, though, Zamir thought. She was very worried about Odale, understandably. He was almost certain that she, too, had thought Odale dead at least once. He felt a feeling of euphoria rise in his chest.

Zamir had _found _her! His heart beat hard. Sure, she wasn't back_ yet_, but she could be soon. He stood up, he had to go find Marcia. Zamir straightened up his robes, pulled his hair up, and was outside the door. "Zamir?" he stopped when he heard Marcia's voice. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

There was something in her voice that was worrying him, Zamir thought, but nodded. "Of course, madam Marcia," he said. "I have something I need to tell you myself, anyways."

For a short, few seconds Marcia really looked at Zamir. "Yesterday," she started slowly, "Me and my brother was looking for Odale in the Port. We didn't... find her, exactley, but we met the Port Witches and apparently, they're friends. I was wondering... if you knew that?"

"Yes, I know," Zamir said. "They're not _still _friends, though, I believe. They had some kind of fall out earlier this year."

"Oh," Marcia looked almost relieved. She smiled. "So, what did you want to tell me?"

"I know where Odale is," Zamir said, almost proudly. "She's in the Eastern Snowplains, she said. Sirmiq mountains, some fort... I don't remember all, but I wrote it down."

"Come with me, back to my flat," Marcia replied, "You can tell me everything there. And the Sirmiq mountains... are you certain?"

* * *

Someone knocked on her cell door. This second time, Odale wasn't too surprised. She sighed loudly. "I haven't decided yet!" she shouted out, believing it was Eridiah. Again. Odale sat with her arms wrapped around her leg, looking in the direction of the window, watching the stars outside. They looked closer from where she was than in the Castle, Odale thought, but maybe it was just her mind playing tricks on her.

"Decided what?" it was not Eridiah. It was Alistair.

Her lips trembled a little. "Leave me alone," she said. Maybe it was unfair. She wasn't sure he had anything to do with her arrest, however he was one of them. Besides, Eridiah had probably told him who she was and maybe he already hated her.

"I brought you some food," Alistair said, "Or, not food, exactley, but sweets. And an extra fur. Can I come in?"

"Fine," she mumbled. He entered, smiling a little at her. In his arms he held a basket, packed with a fur, probably covering the sweets he'd told her about. She looked away from him. Why was he laughing? Was there something funny with her position? Odale pursed her lips when he sat down beside her, putting the basket on her lap. "Why are you doing this?"

"I think this is a little unfair," Alistair replied. "I mean you did lie, but you're harmless..."

She moved the fur from the basket, looked down. "Thanks," she said, "And aren't you angry that I lied?"

"Of course I am," Alistair replied. "Doesn't make this right. I see why you did it at first, but... you could have told me sometime."

Odale picked through the basket. There were a few kinds of cakes and cookies she noticed and her mouth watered. At the bottom, there was a little note. She looked at Alistair, who put a finger to his lips, telling her to keep quiet and he stood up. "I'll come look at you, later," he told her.

When he left, she picked up the note.

_I'm getting you out tonight, _

_Alistair_.

She blinked, surprised.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24: The Escape

* * *

_He hadn't lied_, was her first thought when Alistair opened the door to her cell. Or had he? Could it be a plot, to see if she would run away if given the chance? Most importantly, could or should she trust him? "How did you get the keys?" she asked, as he held it open and mockingly bowed a little as she passed by him. She grimaced.

"They're my keys," he said. "I have them because I'm one of the leaders."

"So, the waiting was just unnecessary?" Odale crossed her arms, as he led her out of the narrow corridor and into a bigger one.

"No," Alistair answered, "They guard's are switching shifts right now, there's a small window for when they're not here. Which is now. It means that I don't have to justify taking you out of here."

Odale nodded, but wasn't sure she understood. "I'm taking you to Nautroe," Alistair told her. "You could take a ship from there, to where ever you'd like."

Her heart leapt. Where ever she'd like? As in home? She tried not to smile to wide. _She was going home_! "Thank you!" she said, "Thank you so much."

Alistair laughed. "Anything, _your Highness_," he said. Odale, once again, grimaced. Why did he mock her so much about it? It wasn't like she'd chosen it. Not that she cared very much, but it was rude. It almost made her like him less. Almost. "Here are your things, by the way," he handed her her bag. "I added some moons, too..."

"Moons?" for a few seconds, she was confused. Then, she remembered. "Right. Ivory moons."

Money.

He opened a wide door, and Odale put her hand over her nose, feeling the smell of a stable. A well used one, heavily inhabited with not only horses, but also by cows and goats. Alistair didn't pay attention to them. Instead, he walked straight over to a horse, which stood in the corner of the stable. He patted it affectionatley on the nose, whispering something in it's ear. It was already saddled. "Come on," he gestured at her to come with him.

He led her into a narrow room with a door and a lever in it. Alistair pulled the lever, and Odale heard the creaking noise of something going upwards. After waiting a little while, Alistair opened the door. There was a small room behind it, and another lever. "This way," Alistair said, and they entered, still with the horse. He pulled the lever, shut the doors and Odale felt the room move. She gasped, and he laughed at her. "It's just a moving chamber," he told her.

She grimaced. "It's a long way down," Alistair continued, "The horses would be tired at once if you'd walk them all the way down there."

He patted the horse on the nose. Odale looked at it curiously. She still didn't know much about horses, except the little things that Alistair had told her before. "What's it's name?" she asked, and he laughed.

"Her name is Ilmarinen," he answered. Why was he always laughing at her? She pursed her lips and looked into the wall. The walls were flat and plain, and when she pulled her hand over it it felt like glass. Odale even believed that she could see some of her reflection on the surface. "After some old fairytale figure, I believe. My sister named her."

Alistair snickered. "But it's a boy's name," he continued.

"It's a horse," Odale said, "I don't believe it cares too much whether the name was meant for a boy or a girl."

"Hmm," Alistair said. "That's true."

Odale was beginning to feel ill, almost a bit seasick. "How much further is it?" she asked him and he shrugged.

"Three minutes, maybe," he replied. Then he, strangely, pulled a hand over her shoulder. She almost shrugged, but got a hold of herself before she hurt his feelings. "Are you ill already?"

Odale nodded. Her mouth felt a bit dry. Alistair looked at her, up and down. "Are you sure you don't want to stay here?" he asked her. "If you agree to what Eridiah has to say..."

She bit her tongue. "I can't go back now, Alistair," she said, "Besides, I don't want to stay here. Definetley not in that cell."

He pressed his lips together, leaning gently onto his horse. "Of course," he said. The room finally stopped, and Odale took a deep breath. Her head hurt a little, and she stumbled out of the room once Alistair opened the door. She felt fresh wind blowing around her, and she looked around. They were on the ground. Odale remembered how far down the ground had been from her cell, and shivered at the thought. For how long had they been in that moving chamber? Only a couple of minutes? In whatever case, she was almost free. Almost.

Alistair helped her up on the horse, then followed, seating himself behind her. He pressed his legs on the horses side, and finally they were on their way.

Odale looked up to the sky. Soon, it would be day, she thought. Had she even had any sleep that day? Odale found herself leaning back, falling asleep against Alistair.

* * *

Marcia didn't look angry, Zamir thought, which he was thankful for, considering that he hadn't told her about being able to communicate with Odale. Not that it had worked very well, anyways. Until then. However, she did look a little bit more nervous than usual.

They sat in her office. She was drumming her fingers on her desk, staring at him. "And you are sure, very sure that it was her?" Marcia asked him. Zamir nodded. "And that she really is there... in the Snowplains?"

"Yes, Marcia, that's what she said," Zamir answered. Marcia sighed heavily, pulling a hand through her hair. "She also said-"

"That she was in a rebelcamp, I heard the first time, thank you very much," Marcia snapped. Then she looked up at him. "I'm sorry, Zamir, I didn't mean to snap at you."

Zamir just nodded, again. "What are we going to do?" he asked her. She stood up.

"My brother will have to go there," she answered, turning to look out the large window. "If she's not in trouble _already_, goodness knows what can go wrong there..."

Marcia visibly shivered. "Excuse me, Marcia, but what is it about these rebels?" Zamir wondered, not sure about how much he actually understood.

"If they know who she is, they'll hate her," Marcia replied, very cryptically. "They'd _kill _her, Zamir, and that's all you need to know for now."

Zamir bit back a snarky remark, that it was _he _who had found out where she was and that the very least Marcia could do for him as a thank you was to at least tell him wat everything was about, what was happening to his best friend. But he managed to bite his tongue and keep quiet. There was a knock on the door, and Marcia opened it. "Marcia, it's your brother outside," Septimus told her.

"What does he want?" Marcia asked, clearly annoyed by her brother's presence.

"He said something about Odale," Septimus answered.

"Oh, really?" Marcia and Zamir exchanged looks. What could he know, that Zamir didn't?

* * *

Alistair shook her lightly. "Hey, Odale," he whispered. "We're there already."

"Mhm?" Odale stretched her arms out, "Really?"

It was morning, she saw, at least almost. The sky was orange and pink, and the air was crisp. Alistair jumped down from the horse, pulling her with him. Odale looked around. They were in some alley. Alistair tied the horse to a pole, then turned to Odale. "Let's get you to a nice inn," he said, "And then you can go do whatever you'd like."

"Thank you," Odale replied. "Thank you so much for everything."

Alistair nodded his head. "Come on," he said, "I know someplace where you could go. Just come with me."

He begun walking, and Odale ran after. "Where is this place?" she asked, finally catching up with his quick strides.

"Here," he'd stopped on the other side of the road. "Not so far, huh?"

Odale smiled, glanced at the inn. She had been surprised when she saw it, she had expected something shabby. It was in an alley on the other side of the street from where they'd stopped, and looked like most houses around the city; white-washed, with a dark blue roof and large windows. Alistair knocked on the door rapidly. Someone opened it quickly, and peeked out. "Alistair!" someone exclaimed, and then said something in latin. For once, Odale thought. She understood some, but far from all.

Alistair grabbed Odale by the shoulder and pushed her forward, for the man who she supposed was the inn owner to see. The inn owner looked like a big dog, Odale thought, hairy, with his nose, mouth and chin area coming out a little from the rest of his face. Like one of those bloodhounds. "Sleep here?" the bloodhound asked.

"_Si_," Alistair said. "She's supposed to sleep here. Do you have a spare room?"

The bloodhound nodded. "Of course," he said, "Of course, please come inside."

Odale was pushed inside by Alistair, the bloodhound stepped aside. "I'm Lars," he said. Odale pressed her lips together. He smelled a little like fish. The fishsmelling bloodhound.

"I'm Odale," Odale mumbled, almost feeling a bit shy.

"Good," Alistair still stood outside. "Then I trust you to take care of her. I'm leaving now."

Odale's heart skipped a bit. Alistair leaving? Already? She wasn't sure if she was ready for that. He was her guide, and how on earth would she find anything without his help? What if no one else spoke Castelian? He'd never been nice to her, she thought, at least not in the way he spoke. Even if he'd done nice things to her. Was he already leaving?

She was confused when he lant forward and kissed her on the cheek. "Maybe we'll meet another time," he told her, patted her on the shoulder and walked away. Odale felt herself blush.

* * *

Finally Marcia opened for him. "May I come inside?" Rodrian asked his sister, who'd crossed her arms over her chest as soon as she saw him. She had the exact same expression as she always had when looking at him, the expression she'd had even when she was little. Had it ever gone away? Had she ever practiced it?

"What do you want?" she asked him in return. He gave her the letter, which he'd clutched in his hands for as long as he'd had it. About where his niece were. Marcia paused to read it, running a hand through her hair, ruffling it.

"Do you still know the language?" he was trying to be helpful, but he himself heard that it came out wrong. A little bit too snarky.

"Of course," she replied coldly. "Only... what does it say there?"

She pointed on a pair of smudged letters. "Daughter," Rodrian said. "It means daughter, and there-"

"Yes yes, I do understand it," Marcia snapped. "And daughter? Why do you show me a letter about your daughter? I didn't know you had a-"

"I don't," Rodrian said. "So, it has to be Odale. There is no other reason. Besides, Alexander thought she was my daughter, because I told him so. Odale was there... maybe she _adopted _my lie, so to speak?"

Marcia pursed her lips. "It does make sense," she said. "Since Odale _is _in the EasternSnowplains and in a rebel's camp."

"How did you know?" Rodrian asked her, confused.

"I have sources," Marcia leant against the door frame. "Now, did you want anything else?"

"Not really," Rodrian said.

"Good," Marcia replied. "Because I have a suggestion."

"What?"

"I want you to go and get Odale for me," Marcia said. Rodrian froze. He shook his head.

"Marcia, this is a dangerous situation for her," he told her. "I couldn't just... we have to think this through."

In all honesty, he didn't want to fetch her. Rodrian didn't want to go back there, he wanted to dissappear. Far away from them. Besides, what he said was also true. It was dangerous. One hint that Odale was _not _his daughter would turn the rebels against her, at once.

"Then get her out of it," Marcia snapped. "Rodrian, she can't _stay _there! It's far too dangerous for her, goodness knows what they'll do..."

Rodrian shook his head. "Marcia, I can't-"

"Then go!" she told him. "Leave!"

He shut his mouth. "Fine," he snapped, turned around and heard the door shut behind him with a loud bang. Rodrian swore.

* * *

"And this is the dininghall," said the bloodhound. Odale looked around. It didn't really matter to her, she didn't mean to stay for too long. The dininghall was plain, but clean. There stood a long table in the middle of the room, with a linen table cloth over it. "Dinner is ready around half past six," the bloodhound continued.

She glanced out the large window, leading out onto the street, and shrugged back. A horse outside was racing in a wild panic. It was a grey, large horse, and it's rider was trying to calm it down. Then, she recognized it as Alistair's horse. With Alistair on it. He was followed by men on horses, and with large poles in their hands. They were hunting him, she saw, shouting things that she didn't understand.

For a short few seconds, she paused. What should she do? Could she help him? Odale had a feeling that if she did, she might not be able to go back home, which was all she wanted. It would be unnecessary to throw everything away for someone she barely knew at all. At the same time, she owed him something. He'd helped her find her way in a country that was entirely foreign to her, besides he'd helped her ouf of that tiny cell...

Odale bit her lip, so hard it bled. She had to do something.

She rushed outside, just inside to see the horse fall on it's side. Alistair was thrown away a little further away from the horse, and one of the soliders, a tall, blonde woman, hopped off. He was bleeding from the side of his face. "Stop!" Odale called. The woman didn't. Instead, she grabbed Alistair by the collar off his shirt.

To force the woman to let Alistair go, she cast a Lightning Orb towards the woman. The woman cursed, and dropped Alistair, who landed on the ground. She turned around and hissed something at Odale. Odale realized that she hated not knowing what the woman was saying. "Come on!" Odale called. "Want a fight? I'll give you one."

She hurled another Orb towards the woman, but the woman lifted her pole and the Orb flew straight back towards Odale, hitting Odale on the shoulder. Biting her lips, she sent another one, but it, too was deflected. Slowly, but steadily, the woman walked towards her, raising her pole. Gaining control of herself again, she summoned energy and it rushed towards the woman, eveloping her in a purple mist. Odale clenched her fists, Transfixing the woman.

Another soldier rushed at Odale, from the side. She dodged him, and aimed a kick at his knee. Missed. Odale cursed. The man hit her in the gut, and Odale bent forward and was kicked again. She fell, but rolled up back again. He jabbed at her with his pole, but she avoided it. Instead, she pressed he palm against his shoulder and let a sharp jolt of energy pass through.

Someone from behind grabbed her by the waist, and she cried out. "Let go!" she snarled, turning around, trying to kick and scratch the soldier's face. The man she'd just been fighting pressed his arm around her neck, choking her. She coughed and was almost certain that she would die, when Alistair shoved the man away from her. The soldier who'd grabbed her from behind put something cold, made out of metal around her wrists.

She felt her Magyk leave, at once. Realizing that she was without Magyk, Odale cursed, hurled herself at the soldier, who fell and hit his head. She pressed her hand on his neck, choking him. The soldier managed to hit her in the face and she was pushed back.

He held her down so that she laid on her chest, and tied her hands, further than the metal bands around her wrists and ripped her to her feet. She saw how Alistair was tied down, too, and she cursed. It had been a stupid decision, she thought, to just rush out. However, she wasn't sure she regretted it.

The soldier, holding her by the wrists and her hair, led her to a waggon, shoving her inside. She didn't land on the seat, but on the floor. Alistair was pushed in, too, and they looked at eachother. "I'm sorry," she mumbled when she saw him.

Alistair didn't reply.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25: Anything's A Start

* * *

Once again, she was trapped. Alistair had helped her up to her seat, but had still not _talked _to her, only said a few words. Odale wondered what thoughts were running through his head. Why wouldn't he talk to her? Couldn't they make up a plan about escape? And then he'd kissed her before. What had he meant by that? Was it friendly, or had it been something else? Her cheeks turned red when she thought about it. It wasn't even relevant to her current situation.

Odale looked around. but what could she do, except think about kisses? Her hands were still tied, behind her back, and the Magyk still wasn't there... Odale hated that feeling of coldness that just seeped over her, like waves. It was the feeling of being powerless.

The waggon was narrow, too, and built like a wooden box, but held together by iron. It was so narrow that she practiacally sat in Alistair's lap. "Where do you think they're taking us?" she asked him, only whispering, in case the soldiers knew Castelian.

Alistair sighed. "I'm not sure," he mumbled. "These soldiers are from Capriolium, at least, but that's pretty far. Centera, maybe, but that's not too close either."

"Why would they take us there?" she asked, chewing a piece of hair that had strayed to her face. Finally he was talking to her.

"Most the military leaders would be around there," Alistair answered. "They have this big meeting, and if they found rebels who could possibly have information, then they would like to have them there..."

Odale looked out the very, very small window which was heavily barred. She could see next until nothing out there, only a piece of grey sky and heavy snowflakes falling down. "We're kids," she said, "What would we know?"

"I'm not a kid, exactley," Alistair replied. "Besides, they know that one of the leaders is very young. I suppose that I'm a suspect."

She felt a jolt of fear. "But you are one?" she whispered lowly, afraid the soldiers would understand and hear. Alistair only nodded, probably having the same fear as Odale had. They both turned quiet.

"They'll find out pretty quick, too," Alistair murmured. "All leaders have this tatoo on our backs..."

"Well, that was a stupid idea," Odale snarked. "Isn't that a little bit like a sign that says 'Oi! Torture me!'?"

Alistair pressed his lips together, apparently struggling not to snark back. Then, his face lit up. "Maybe they'll let you go," he whispered. "Since your the Emperor's granddaughter..."

Odale shook her head. "I don't think so," she said. "I've never even met him! Besides, what proof would I have?"

Alistair looked down. "But you're a foreigner," he replied. "Don't you have anything in your back that could... proove that you're not with us?"

Odale pressed her lips together. Did she have anything? All she had was a stolen bag with what she'd worn when she was first captured, and some food and ivory moons. Maybe the bracelet, Odale thought, that her mother had once given her? Was it somehow proof of who she was? She knew that her father had made it for her, when she was alive, and that her mother had kept it... until she'd given it to Odale, of course. "I could have something," she murmured. "In my bag. It's a bracelet."

"Bracelet?" Alistair said. "Why are you carrying a bracelet in your bag?"

"Does it matter?" Odale snapped. "Do you think you could get it out somehow?"

For whatever reason, they had tied his hands in front of him. It was lucky, Odale thought. that they had. She turned so that he could easily access to her bag, and Alistair grabbed it, fumbled with the ropes that held the primitive bag together, and managed to untie them. Then, he dug through her bag. "What does it look like?" he asked her.

"Well, it's round," Odale snarked. And then, more seriously added; "Silver, with a blue stone. It has my name written on it. And then the meaning-"

"Got it!" Alistair said, finally holding the small silverpiece in his hands. "It's pretty. And... I thought you said you couldn't read monmanian?"

"Monmanian?" her head spun. Whatever was he talking about?

"My language," he explained. "It says '_merestä_'... From the sea. Nice."

"I'm pretty sure last time I looked it was in Castelian," Odale snapped. "Whatever. Help me get it on."

She turned around, holding her wrists in front of him. Once again, he fumbled a little but Odale heard the familiar _click _and smiled a little. She had worn it so often that it almost felt empty not wearing it, and now that it was back again she felt content. "Are you going to show it to them?" Alistair asked.

Odale shook her head. "Not yet," she mumbled. "It would almost seem suspiscious. I'll let them find it, instead. And then..."

She smiled. "Maybe we'll be free again," she said.

* * *

Runa was pale. She sat on their bed, clutching the bedsheet so hard her knuckled turned white. She sat swearing in her birthlanguage, that Rodrian didn't understand. "Runa?" he said, worried, "Runa, are you alright?"

She took a deep breath. "Contractions, I think," she replied, and swore again. "_Fitta_. Will you go and get someone for me? I think it's y-you know, time."

Rodrian nodded, leant in and gave her a quick hug. "Anything else?" he asked.

"Just get someone to help!" Runa exclaimed, then seemingly thought it had sounded a little too rude. "Please."

Rodrian rushed downstairs, up to the owner of the Dollhouse, a woman in her fourties who had a son around the same age as Odale. "Ma'am," he said, feeling a bit stressed. "My wife needs a midwife, she's giving birth..."

The owner nodded. "I _am _a midwife, sir," she replied. "Or, was. I'm sure I could help your wife."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said. "I will, of course, pay you for this extra work."

She shook her head. "Let's not discuss this now," she said, "Where is your wife?"

"Upstairs," Rodrian said, "In our room. Room-"

"Eight, yes of course," said the owner. "Sir, stay here. I'll take care of your wife."

"Alone?" Rodrian was shocked. Could he, really, leave Runa alone in the care of this stranger? While not looking after her. The woman nodded.

This, Rodrian thought a little annoyed, would never have happened among the rebels. They were always many, a group of around five, and they helped eachother. Could one do it alone? But what did he know, really? He hadn't given birth, nor did he know anything about what it was like. Maybe he should have read about it, but it was too late, then. "Just sit down here and relax," the woman said, walking past him. "Merrin, you can come with. You'll have to do exactley what I say."

Distraught, Rodrian sat down. Things were, he thought, going a little too fast for his taste.

* * *

The carriage halted, and it gave Alistair a feeling that something bad was going to happen. He saw Odale look at him, smiling a little bit nervously. The door was opened, and someone pulled Odale out off the carriage. He protested, but the door was slammed shut in front of him. To see her properly, Alistair stood up.

The soldier, the tall, blonde woman, had grabbed Odale by the collar of her shirt. Odale was struggling, but the woman was strong and held her by the arms, and had a strong hand on Odale's jaw, making her look at something. Alistair didn't really see what.

Someone, however, begun to speak latin. He grabbed the bars of the waggons window. "She doesn't speak latin," he called out. Someone kicked the waggon and it shook. However, the voice had listened. "Or monmanian."

"Castelian?" the voice asked.

"Yes," Odale replied through gritted teeth. "Who are you?"

"Who are _you_?" another voice, a younger one asked. Alistair clenched his jaw. It was the voice of a young soldier in the Emperor's army, a noble man. Davilius Rammasotti. They'd faced off, once, last year.

Alistair saw Odale, despite being held back, straighten her back, throwing her hair out of her face. "I'm Odale Overstrand," she snapped, and the name sent a chill down Alistair's spine. It sounded right, he thought, but at the same time being a royal didn'y suit her very well. She was far too... down to the earth, so to speak. "Apprentice of Marcia Overstrand. And... Ugh!"

Davilius had hit her in the gut. "Liar," he told her. She was dropped to the ground, panting, and Alistair clenched his fists. Odale didn't deserve that.

"Then who am I?" she said. "Do you have any proof?"

"Davilius, please," said the original voice. "Wait."

Odale stood up, and the soldier woman grabbed her again. "She was found with a rebel, wasn't she?" Davilius snarled, in latin. "Don't trust her, Phileus."

"She does look like an Overstrand," Phileus said shortly. Alistair had no doubts as to _which _Phileus it was: it had to be Phileus Porter, member of the Seven. The Emperor's council. He bared his teeth, almost wanting to cry out that she was one, but then why would they listen to him? Why would they trust him?

"Maybe because I am one," Odale snarled, "Now let me _go_."

"Even if she was one, being around one would be a criminal offense!" he said, in latin. Phileus told him something, a little lower and whispering. Alistair was frustrated when he didn't hear what they said, but Phileus finally turned to Odale.

"You may come with us, girl," he said. "Come on."

"Will you untie me?" Odale asked.

"Absolutely not," Davilius snarled.

"Not yet," Phileus said. "But please, come with us."

Odale glanced up at Alistair. He didn't move a muscle, and nor did she. She turned back to Phileus. "Of course," she murmured.

* * *

Dextus kissed her, gently weaving his hand through Lorea's hair. She pushed him away a little. "I can hear mother," she mumbled. "Dextus..."

He pulled away. "She knows, Lorea," he said. "It's okay."

"I know," Lorea replied. "I do, it's just... she doesn't need to see us kissing, okay?"

Dextus pursed his lips, as if he wanted to continue, but didn't. Lorea pressed her lips against his neck, only for a little moment, and then turned around. "Mum?" she called, "What are you doing?"

"I'm making dinner," Cashmére said. Dextus held back a laugh, and Lorea walked into the kitchen.

"Mother!" she said, "It's late. At this hour? I just thought that you forgot it all together..."

"Well, Little is hungry," Cashmére said, "And I don't want her to eat those rats again, it's distasteful. Besides, she's becoming more and more human..."

There was a knock on the door, and Cashmére tossed her hair over her shoulder. "It must be Marcia," she said. "And I can't stand to see her right now. Please open the door, Lorea."

Lorea did, and her mother was very right. Marcia smiled a little when she saw Lorea. "Oh, Lorea," she said, almost as if relieved. "So good to see you. Is your mother home?"

"Yes," Lorea said, "But Marcia, I think she's really tired. Maybe you should come back tomorrow..."

"It's about Odale," Marcia said, "And it's very important. I need to see her now. Lorea, please let me in."

Lorea turned around, to call for her mother, but her mother was already there. She stared at Marcia. "Have you found her?" Cashmére asked, but both Cashmére and Lorea knew that that wasn't it. "What is it?"

"She's not found," Marcia said, "But I know where she is now. Here..."

Lorea's aunt handed her mother a letter. It was dirt and all the inc letters were smudged. And it had been wrinkled. "Rodrian gave me this," Marcia said, and Cashmére frowned. "It's from one of the rebels, but it's about Odale."

Cashmére anxiously read through it. "But it's... about his... daughter?" she said, finally, having read through it a several times. "What is this?"

"It's about Odale," Marcia repeated. "They only think it's Rodrian's daughter. But it's Odale."

"She's with the rebels?" her mother's voice was hoarse. Lorea gingerly walked up to her mother, put her arms around her mother. "H-how? _When?_"

"I don't know anything," Marcia said softly. "Not any more than you. But I know that you can help her. You have to write to your father and tell him what's happened. I'm sure he can do something..."

Her mother pressed her lips together. "I don't know if I can, Marcia," Cashmére said, "We haven't... talked for such a long time. I think he hates me. I... I can't."

"For Odale," Marcia said, "Try it for Odale."

"I'll... I'll try," Cashmére mumbled. "Tonight. But will you go, now? I have to make dinner."

Marcia nodded, and she walked away.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26: First Meeting

* * *

Runa looked exhausted. Of course, Rodrian thought, and kneeled down beside her bedside. He gently pulled his hand over her shoulder. "How are you?" he asked her gingerly. She smiled a little, grasped his hand, holding it tight.

"I'm okay," she answered, sitting up a little. "She's over there, I'm just so tired I'm afraid I might drop her..."

There was a basket, on the other side of the bed, Rodrian saw then. He had been too focused on Runa. "She?" he said, "It's a girl?"

Runa nodded, and he walked over to the basket. "Ylva," he mumbled and gently picked the infant up. The infant was smaller than he'd expected, and it was sleeping already. The face was red, wrinkly. He'd heard that newborns were horrifically ugly, but couldn't see it.

Rodrian sat down by Runa, holding the child as firmly as he thought it could handle. She sat up behind him, pressed her cheek to his shoulder. "I love her," Runa whispered. "My girl..."

"Me too," he said.

* * *

Phileus Porter looked at the girl closely. Was she an imposter? Or was she, possibly, the daughter of Cashmére Tanner? She had that nose which was a little pointed, with wide nostrils and then those large, valiant eyes that made it look as if she was highly suspiscious at all times... which she probably was, at that time at least. It didn't make it better than she had that well known Overstrand-frown, which her grandfather on her father's side had been known for... and that her aunt was also known for, back in the Castle.

He crossed his legs, looking the girl in the eyes, which were green, instead of blue, like her mother's had been. "What would you like to be refered to as, miss?" he asked her gently. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Odale," she said, "Odale Overstrand."

The girl glanced out the window, and for a short moment her grumpy appeareance slipped, her shoulders went up and she tilted her head to see more of the outside. Phileus looked to. Outside, the strongroses were blooming, all in shades of red and pink, like little specks of life in the sea of white out there. The roses were well known, even outside the Snowplains, for being able to live even through the harshest of weather. "It's pretty, _si?_" he said. "Have you ever been to the Eastern Snowplains before?"

"No," she said, "I've never been here before."

"Is that why you don't speak latin?" Phileus asked. Of course, he thought, she could have spoken monmanian, too, but it was Cashmére's daughter. Latin had been her native tongue, after all, and Joseph was dead...

Odale pressed her lips together. "No one ever spoke latin to me," she mumbled.

Phileus stared at her in shock. "No one spoke latin to you?" he asked, a little in awe. He knew that the younger Overstrand children, Marcia and Joseph, had adopted the Castelian culture... in many ways, but that Joseph's daughter only would learn Castelian seemed... almost unreal to Phileus. "Not even your mother?"

"My mother didn't raise me," she told him. "I wasn't raised by family, really."

This was a surprise to Phileus. Assuming Odale was Cashmére daughter, he'd thought that Cashmére would have raised her, since she was alive. He was sure of this, since he knew that once, many, many years ago Cashmére had came back to visit her father, to tell him something. Despite Tantibus and Phileus being close, Tantibus had never told Phileus, or anyone that Phileus knew of for that matter, about what he and his daughter had said to eachother.

"Who raised you, then?" Phileus was sincerely curious.

"Necromancer," their eyes met for a short few seconds. "Mother left me in the snow when I was little. He found me. Took me in. Was there until I turned ten. Then, my aunt found me. Took care of me."

Phileus reached out to hold her hand, trying to comfort the girl. She barely reacted. "But you think I'm lying, don't you?" she said coolly, pulling her hand away suddenly.

"I don't want to believe that you are," he told her, "But when you appear with a rebel, wearing rebel's clothes then that is highly suspiscious. On the other hand, I have heard of a niece to madam Marcia, living with her, which would be you..."

"Has she looked for me?" the girl's eyes lit up. "Did she send you a letter?"

"On the contrary," Phileus said, "When we sent her one she did not reply. And looking for you? Why would she be looking for you? Have you run away?"

"No no," she replied, but with much less enthusiasm, "I was taken here, by a rebel boy..."

He nodded. "Of course," he said. "Are you hungry?"

"A little," Odale mumbled. Once again, she was looking out the window. From underneath a seat in the carriage, he pulled out a box. His daughter had handed it to him once he left their family home to travel east. It was only dried fruits and nuts, be he supposed it could still a young girl's hunger, at least for a little while.

"Here you go," he told her, putting the box on her lap.

* * *

Cashmére's hands trembled. The ink dripped on the paper, and she had to put the pencil down. Maybe she shouldn't have promised anything to Marcia, she thought, drumming her fingers on her dinner table.

She hadn't spoken to her father for fourteen years, and then they had both only screamed at eachother. Tantibus, her father, had told her to get out of his sight. Or he would exile her. The reason of the conflict was Odale. She'd said she'd left her in the snow, which maybe she shouldn't. Maybe, Cashmére thought, she should have just said she lost her... maybe...

It was a selfish thought, and she knew that she should pay more attention to the task at hand. The letter. Her largest issue was to begin the letter. How would she refer to him? Not papa or dad, she thought, as it didn't seen... right to her anymore, given their relationship. Father, too, seemed strange to her. Your majesty was formal, and lord Tantibus...

She quickly scribbled it down.

_Lord Tantibus, _she thought it sounded a little strange, but it would still work. _My daughter..._

* * *

"Such a lovely bracelet," Phileus said, pointing to her hand. She smiled, he'd finally noticed it. Odale twisted it, like she usually would. "Where did you get it?"

"Mother said my father made it for me," Odale replied, "She gave it to me when I was eleven."

There was no reason to tell him the circumstances. Phileus nodded. "Your father made one like that for your sister, too," he said, "But then she... well, you know."

Odale nodded. Dead. They all thought her sister was dead. She pressed her lips together. Should she say something? No, she thought. It could make her seem like a fraud, and she was _not_. Phileus was nice to her, he made her feel like he didn't think she was a fraud. The boy he was travelling with, on the other hand... She decided not to think of him.

"Your grandfather," Phileus added, "Assuming you are who you claim to be, is going to be so happy when he sees you."

She looked down. Who was her grandfather, even? Would he even care about her? "I hope so," she mumbled, pulling a hand over her arm. "How far away is it?"

"Only a few miles," Phileus told her, "We will have to take a few breaks for the horses. It will take about half a day to get there, I think."

"Oh," Odale said.

* * *

Davilius saw Phileus help the girl out of the carriage, and he hopped off Astro, landing softly on the ground. "Davilius!" Phileus called, but Davilius was already at his side.

"Yes, sir?" he said. The words stung a little in his mouth, as it always did. Davilius had been raised with the Porter children, the Porters were his family. In private, he was just like one of them, trated the same and he treated them the same. But in public, because of Phileus position, and Davilius own, he had to adress him much more differently.

Phileus begun speaking in latin. "Please come with us after this pause," Phileus said, "I really think she is who she says."

Davilius glanced on the girl. Maybe, he thought. He wrinkled his nose a little, but quickly looked away so that the girl wouldn't notice. In case she really was...

The girl were dressed in rebel's clothes, but they were a little bit too large for her. The orange edges of her tunic made Davilius almost ill, and he also wanted rip edges off. The girl had to be completely history-less to dress like that. Even if they had been her only option, Davilius would rather have seen her going without. "Of course," he mumbled through gritted teeth. "If that is what you want, sir."

"Are you cold?" he asked the girl, who'd crossed her arms over her chest. He could offer her his cloak, as a friendy gesture, and maybe his cloak would cover that horrid rebel's uniform. And if she was cold, he thought, maybe she wasn't a snowplainian. Maybe...

"I'm good, thank you very much," the girl responded. So, not cold. She was snowplainian. Actually.

"I insist, miss," Davilius said, taking his own cloak off. A green, thick one lined with fur. It wasn't about her anyomore. He just wouldn't be able to stand seeing the rebels clothes for an entire journey. "Please, you look like you'll be cold."

The girl finally nodded, and he wrapped it around her shoulders. "Thank you," the girl mumbled, but looked off into the distance. They were by the sea, Davilius noted, but didn't think much of it. The girl, however, stared.

The sky was clear blue, competing with the blue sea. No clouds, but very much wind, Davilius noted, and looked to the girl again. She'd snapped out of it. If she was the Emperor's granddaughter, why did she have to be so messy? He straightened the velvet cloak, softly smoothing out a wrinkle in the delicate fabric. The girl shrugged back at his touch, and he grunted a short sorry.

"Get to know her," Phileus whispered in his ear, in latin. "If she is who she sais, the Emperor would appreciate it if she had one friend..."

Davilius pressed his lips together. It was true, he thought, that lord Tantibus would appreciate it... He finally sighed. "Fine," he mumbled. "Miss, would you like to sit back down in the carriage? I think the break is almost over."

She nodded. What was her name again?

* * *

Runa heard Rodrian swear. She opened her eyes to see him holding a letter in his hands. He walked back and forth, back and forth and it was stressing Runa, too. "Whatever is it?" she asked and sat up a little. "They know, they know," he said, "They know who Odale is..."

She frowned. "What?" she asked.

"We have to get out," he said, "Now. As soon as possible."

"What, why?" Runa wondered, holding Ylva tight in her arms. "Rodrian?"

"Because they know that I lied!" Rodrian almost shouted. "Runa, we really have to go."

"I can barely walk!" she snapped back, "Where do you suppose we'd go?"

"Runa..." he knelt down by her bedside, "You don't suppose... you could go back to the Land of Long Nights?"

Runa sighed. "This is serious?" she looked out the small, small window. "Really serious?"

He nodded. "Fine, then," she mumbled. "Fine."

* * *

**(A/N So the internet is down and I'm doing this on the library... hope y'all enjoy anyways!)**


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27: By Blood Bound

* * *

He was sitting in the hall between the bedrooms, by the window there, writing on an assignment that Marcia had given him a few days earlier. Septimus was a little distraught, paying more attention to the Wizard Way, which Maizie Smalls was lighting up. Even now, at fourteen, he enjoyed watching the lights.

However, he was interrupted. There was a loud bang from Odale's room. Septimus looked up, startled. Old tales, about hauntings in the Wizard Tower, came to mind and sent shivers down his spine as he stared at the door. Then, he begun thinking more rationally. The only _real _haunting he'd ever heard about in the Wizard Tower was Alther's haunting of DomDaniel, which was more of a series of practical jokes.

Septimus stood up, put the assignment on his chair. "Hello?" he called out. No one replied. He _had _heard it, Septimus assured himself. He wasn't going mad. "Marcia?"

Marcia had gone out half an hour ago, Septimus didn't remember what she'd said she'd do. Besides, what would Marcia do in Odale's room? Odale... Was it Odale? Septimus was well aware that she was in the Eastern Snowplains, but could the bang have been a Transportation Spell of some sort? In that case, perhaps she had fainted once she came back? Transportation Spells took a lot of energy, even more so at a far distance... perhaps... Septimus shivered.

There was a clear, Darke presence in the room. Septimus didn't like it, at all. He slowly made his way towards the door. "Odale?" he asked loudly, "Odale, is that you?"

No reply. Septimus opened the door, and at once something large and soft hit him, pushing him down onto the floor, the large human-shaped figure sitting over him. It was Darke, and felt cold. A Thing. Quickly, Septimus shouted out a Light spell, momentarily lighting up the room with a warm, yellowish light.

The Thing howled as It's skin was burnt, and It covered what would have been It's face. If it had been human. "The girl," It hissed, "The girl, where is she?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Septimus replied, puzzled at conversing with a Thing. He held his hands outstretched a little, ready to cast a Spell if the Thing was to hurl at him again. Was the Thing meaning Odale? Septimus had a vague suspiscion that it was.

"The apprentice girl," the Thing said. Odale. Of course. Septimus almost groaned out loud. What kind of mess was this?

"What do you need her for?" he asked. The Thing looked very weak, even for a Thing. Could he destroy it? _Should _he?

"It's no buisniss of yours," the Thing snarled, "Just between me and her. Got it? Now, where is she?"

"Gone," Septimus told him, "She's not here. Why do you need her?"

"Without her, I die," the Thing said. Septimus heard the hall door open. Marcia, probably.

"You're a Thing," Septimus replied to It. "You can't die. You never _lived_."

Septimus heard the tip-tapping of Marcia's shoes, walking up the stairs. "Septimus?" she called. "What are you doing?"

"I'm in Odale's bedroom," Septimus said. "There's a Thing here, It sais it's looking for Odale..."

Marcia stopped in the doorway, when she saw the Thing. "Septimus," she said, "Step away from It. Go get an Ordinary. I'll take care of it."

Without a word, Septimus left.

* * *

Davilius annoyed himself with feeling a little intrigued about the girl. She sat there on the opposite seats in the carriage, with his cloak wrapped around her shoulders. Her green eyes did not lie, she was clearly a wizard, and she talked about the Wizard Tower. Of course Davilius had heard of it, everyone had, but he'd never seen it, though he, too, was a wizard, though he'd never been a good one.

What interested him more was whether she was the Emperor's granddaughter, or not. When he looked at her, he could see some features from him on her face. However, that could be coincidental. She could still be a fraud. Still, Phileus seemed very certain that she could be related to the Emperor, and Davilius wanted him to be right.

Phileus was still asking the girl many questions, many about her mother and aunt. Knowing much about lady Cashmére already, Davilius was surprised that she was living in a fairly small apartment in the Castle, of all places. He had seen portraits of Cashmére, almost all his life, and he couldn't imagine her living like an ordinary person. Nor could he imagine her having that daughter. Sure, the girl looked like Cashmére in the portraits. They had the same eyes and nose, but the girl didn't seem very royal to him. Her manners, and the way she talked just didn't seem... right.

Momentarily, Davilius looked out the window. They were in the outer district of the capitol city, the finer district. Their current capitol, Capriolium, was built around the ancient palace, which was now abandoned. The newer palace laid outside the city itself, on the other side of the river, high upon a cliff. The ancient palace was now, instead, just a ruin, and around it the poorer districs had formed, in the houses which had once belonged to nobility. Instead, the noble families had moved to the outer districts, or some of them, like the Porters, had moved to the Palace, with the Emperor. He wondered how much of this the girl knew when she, too, looked out the windows. "We're almost there, aren't we?" she asked.

Phileus nodded in reply. "We're almost by the docks," Davilius added. "Then, I'd say that the boat will take about another hour..."

"Are we going by boat?" the girl asked, seemingly a little confused.

"Yes, child," Phileus answered, "And after that, we'll be just by the Palace doors."

The palace didn't just lay across the river, it was almost in the middle of it, had been rebuilt recently so that the gates and courtyard were in the water. "Literally speaking," Davilius said. The girl nodded, once again looking out the windows. If she was a fraud, Davilius thought, she was a very elaborate one. The things she talked about were very vivid. At the same time, who knew for how long the scheme could have been planned? If the rebels were behind it... Davilius almost shivered.

"What do you do?" the girl asked, turning to him. "Do you study?"

They hadn't really spoken to one another. Davilius had just listened to her speak. "In a way," he said, "I training to be in the military."

In a way. His dream was to be in the Seven, but being responsible for the army. Davilius's life plan depended on him having that one position, and he was very well aware that it wasn't an impossible occupation for him to have. Phileus, who Davilius thought of as a father, was in the Seven, and so had his uncle been.

The girl nodded again. "It's more of a personal training," Davilius continued, "A little bit like an apprenticeship."

She smiled a little, and it was the first time he noticed her do that. "Then we have something in common," she told him, before glancing out the window. "Oh, there's a ship. Is this the dock?"

* * *

If a Thing could stare, this one did. Marcia had had an ordinary take It down into the cells, at the very bottom of the Tower. She rarely, extremely rarely, used those. However, this time it felt like a must. If the Thing hadn't talked, she would have destroyed It at once. But since It did talk, and talked about her niece, she had to hear what It wanted to say.

There was, Marcia noticed, some intelligence in It's eyes, something she'd never seen a Thing have. Perhaps she, and Septimus, had been mistaken. Perhaps It was something else. "What are you?" she demanded.

"Isn't it obvious?" It replied, "A Thing."

"Then who created you?" Marcia asked. This question worried herself a little. _Don't be Odale_, she thought to herself.

"Why is this relevant?" It asked in return, "I don't belong to anyone. I have a conscience."

"It's relevant because I ask you," Marcia snapped. "Did my niece make you?"

"No," the Thing said. "But she did save me from the destruction of the Darke Domaine."

"What do you mean?"

"Blood sacrifice," the Thing held up It's hand. "See?"

Marcia had heard enough.

* * *

"Where is the rebel going?"

Davilius pursed his lips. She seemed, he thought, a little bit too interested in the rebel's fate. Alistair Hassar. Probably one of the youngest leaders of the rebels ever. Why would the granddaughter of the Emperor care about a rebel? Didn't she know anything? "Another boat," he told her, "It's too risky to have him, or any rebel, with us."

She nodded. They were on the boat, already, going down the river. The girl was leaning over the reeling, her hair whipping around her face. Davilius rested on the piece of reeling beside her. "Doesn't all that hair make it a little bit hard to see?" he asked, amused.

"But it's pretty nice," she answered, and then pointed towards the horizon. "And that's the palace?"

"Yes," Davilius replied, "_Aurora_."

The sun was slowly, very slowly setting. "Pretty name," Odale said, "Did my family live here?"

"For a while," Davilius said. He saw that Odale smiled a little to herself. The cloak had slipped a little, showing the edge of her tunic's sleeves. "Uh, miss?"

"What?" she asked, turning her gaze from the water to him.

"It would be very improper for the Emperor's potential granddaughter to show up here with those sleeves," Davilius answered, "Could I... may I cut the edges off?"

She looked a little confused at first, but then stretched out her arms for him. He had a dagger in his belt, which he drew and cut the thick fabric. The sound of tearing fabric was very satisfying, he thought, as he tore the edges of her tunic. When he was done, it looked a little bit better to him. Davilius tossed the pieces overboard. "Thanks, I guess," Odale said. Davilius carefully wrapped his cloak tighter around her.

"Just don't show anyone the clothes, okay?" he told her, "It wouldn't be..."

"I got it," she said, held his cloak tighter around herself. "Where did the other one go?"

"What?"

"Porter?" she asked, "Where did he go?"

Davilius shrugged. "He had someone more important to talk to," he told her. Odale nodded, and looked down into the water. Fish leapt in the water. Perhaps there were seals a little bit deeper down, Davilius thought, and even deeper... Well, the river was very deep.

"Do you know what's going to happen to you if you're lying about all this?" Davilius asked her, grasped her arm. "You'll be very, very hurt. Are you lying?"

"Of course not," Odale answered. Davilius wasn't so sure that she was telling the truth.

* * *

Rodrian held Ylva tight, while Runa clutched onto his arm. They stood outside the big, red door, behind which Lorea lived. For the moment. He could feel Runa lean on him heavily, she was still exhausted. Moving her hadn't helped, but Rodrian didn't know what choice they had. "Are you sure that she'll want to help us?" Runa whispered anxiously.

"She'll have to," Rodrian answered. His niece was angry with him, but hopefully she didn't want him to _die_. Or his child, for that matter.

He looked around, feeling as anxious as Runa seemed to feel. Anyone, Rodrian thought, could be an enemy. Spies. Rapidly, he knocked on the door, hoping Lorea, or anyone living in there would, would respong quickly.

Neither Lorea or Cashmére opened, instead it was Dextus. "Where's Lorea?" Rodrian asked him. Ylva had begun whimpering, and Runa leant over her to comfort her. "It's very important."

"Lorea and Cashmére went to get food," Dextus replied shorly. Rodrian saw the look in his eyes. It wasn't a well-meaning look, at all. "What's so important?"

"I'll take it with Lorea when she comes back," Rodrian said. "Please, let us in, just for the moment..."

"No," Dextus said. Rodrian paused for a moment.

"Dextus, we have a child with us-"

Dextus glanced down at the now quiet bundle. Frowned. "Fine, then," he snapped. Rodrian smiled, out of relief, but Runa still looked a little tense. He pushed her inside, in front of him, and dropped the large bag he had been carrying onto the floor.

"Find somewhere to rest, Runa," Rodrian whispered to Runa. She nodded, and took Ylva from his arms. Rodrian let her, unwillingly. He'd liked holding her, feeling how warm she was, and being able to make sure that she was safe.

"You have some nerve to come here," Dextus snarled. Rodrian didn't understand why he was so angry, all of a sudden. Never had he been received like that by Dextus. "After all you've done."

"I don't understand-"

"You're a rebel!" Dextus shouted, and Rodrian took a step back from him. There was a mad look in his bright, green eyes. "Murderer! _Traitor!_"

"I'm quitting the rebel life, Dextus," Rodrian replied calmly. He could see Runa in the doorway, pale, clutching Ylva to his chest. There was no way he could fight the young man off with just pure muscle power. Dextus was in his mid-twenties, in his prime, and muscular. From what Rodrian had understood Dextus worked in the docks, probably carrying heavy weights. "Calm down. I'll talk to Lorea-"

"You _kidnapped _her, Rodrian, from an already loving family," Dextus said, "I don't think that she wants to talk to you. I don't think that she wants to see your ugly face around here. Nor do I think that Cashmére would. After all, it was rebel scum that was responsible or murdering Joseph, too. And-"

"Lay off, will you!" Rodrian snapped. "You have nothing to do with this, anyways."

"I love her, Rodrian," Dextus said. "You're not going to hurt her..."

He pushed Rodrian up against the wall. "This is personal, isn't it?" Rodrian said, not struggling against Dextus. "What did the rebels do to you?"

"They-"

The door was opened, and Dextus hurriedly let Rodrian go. Lorea stepped in, holding a basket in her arms. She stopped when she saw Rodrian. "Rodrian?" she said, "Why-"

Not caring about what she thought, Rodrian enveloped her in a hug, hugging her so tight she was almost afraid that he would crush her ribs.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28: Little Children

* * *

In another life, would she have viewed this as 'home'? Odale thought about this, as she was helped onto land, just by the Palace gates. The Palace was tall, a svereal stores high, with many towers. The towers didn't look as if it had been planned where they were built up, more like they had just grown up out of the ground.

Davilius, once again, to her great annoyance, fixed with the cloak, making sure it covered her clothes. He looked annoyed with her, but it wasn't something new. Meanwhile, the great palace door opened. The palace hall shone like a beacon, as it was all darke outside. Two armed guards stepped outside, a woman and a man. The woman took her helmet off, revealing red hair put up into a bun. With her helmet in her arms, she bowed a little to Porter and they spoke a little, once again in latin. The other one, a young man, almost a boy, waved a little at Davilius and both of them smiled. Perhaps, Odale thought, this was the first time she'd seen him smile.

After a short few moments of speaking to the woman, Phileus approached her and Davilius. "Miss," he said, "I have other things to attend you. But Xeder here will make sure that you find your room, and Davilius will help you get settled."

Davilius's lips were pursed, but he didn't protest. Instead, he grasped her arm. "Come on," he told her, pulling her with him.

* * *

Lorea hugged him back. Her uncle was both crying and shaking, she couldn't think of another time that he had behaved like that. Of course she was still mad, maybe a part of her always would be, but how could she not hug him when he was like that? Lorea knew that her mother was watching them, disapprovingly, and she let Rodrian go. "Rodrian," she said calmly, "What on earth is it?"

"They know who she is," Rodrian managed to whisper, "Odale... They... I can't-"

"Did they hurt her?" Cashmére asked, moving closer to Rodrian. "How's my girl?"

Rodrian shook his head. "I don't know," he said, "I don't think so, not yet..."

Cashmére went quiet. "What do you think they'll do to her?" Lorea asked anxiously, in her mother's place. "Do you think they will hurt her?"

"They never told me their intent," Rodrian answered. He pressed his lips together, and put his hand on Lorea's shoulder. "I'm sorry for coming to you like this, I know- I know that you don't want to see me here, Lorea, but I don't know where to go. It's just for a night, if you and Cashmére will have us."

"Us?" Lorea finally saw Runa, with the child in her arms. "Oh."

"Come," Rodrian said, backing to Runa, who momentarily smiled. "Say hello to your cousin."

"Is that yours?" Lorea asked, "Oh, I never realized..."

Runa handed Ylva to Rodrian. "We call her Ylva," he told her, holding Ylva down so that Lorea really could see her. The redness had went down, but only a little, and the dull, grey eyes had learnt to look... but only at things close enough to her face. Lorea went up beside him, their shoulders touching.

"Very pretty name," Lorea said, "Of course, _she _is pretty, too."

"Thank you," Runa said.

* * *

The palace was remarkably large, and the halls were beautifully decorated with statues and paintings on the walls. Davilius and Xeder led Odale to a way less decorated hallway, and then a room. The walls were off wood, which Odale thought was a little strange since she hadn't seen many forests outside. A fire was burning at the end of the room, a possible fire risk, she noted, and barely necessary. "How come they knew we would come?" she asked Davilius.

Xeder chuckled at her. "Messenger birds, haven't you heard of those ever before?" he asked in return. He then turned to Davilius, whispered something in his ear, and then with a slight, but graceful bow he left.

She was left alone with Davilius. He didn't look much happier than what she did. They sat down by the small, round table by the fireplace. Bowls, empty bowls, and a pot stod on the table. Davilius had pulled the chair out for her, and he served her soup from the pot. It smelled salty and sweet, and the look of it reminded Odale off what her mother used to make as dinner for the two of them. The soup was stuffed with clams, sea spinach, different kinds of fish and meat, and small, fruitlike things that Odale didn't know what they were. Odale took a piece of bread from the basket, and begun to eat. Davilius watched her, with a wry grin. "You were hungry," he remarked.

"Yes," Odale mumbled.

"You eat like a dog," Davilius snarked. "If you now are the Emperor's granddaughter, maybe you should act like you were."

Odale pressed her lips together, used the napkin to wipe stray food from her mouth. "Maybe you should treat me like a princess, instead," she snapped. Davilius turned quiet, but only for a few seconds. Of course, Odale thought. He was very talkative.

"What I mean, I suppose," Davilius said, "Maybe you should learn how to act like a royal, if you are supposed to be one."

Odale didn't reply, perhaps because he was right... to a certain extent, and that pained her to admit. Then there was a knock on the door, and Davilius rose to his feet.

* * *

"I don't like him being so close to you, that's all," Dextus murmured to Lorea, pulling away from her for a few seconds. He caressed her cheek. "We both know what he is, don't we?"

"He's still my uncle," Lorea replied, "Dextus, don't be silly. Besides, he said it himself: it won't be for long."

Lorea looked away, but he grasped her chin in his hands. His skin was so pale, compared to her brown skin. Dextus made her look at them. "You've seen them at least once, haven't you?" he said, "You know what they do. They're monsters. Even if he doesn't... do anything, he might lead them to you. Just throw him out, Lorea, he's nothing to have."

"I can't, Dex," Lorea mumbled. "And I can't throw out my cousin, either. Dextus, please stop-"

"I don't care if he's your mother!" Dextus snarled. "Lorea, for your own safety. That's all I care about. _Throw him out_."

"No!" she hissed back at him. He turned quiet. She'd never looked at him that way, as if he was... bad. This was their first big fight, as far as any of them recalled. Lorea didnt like conflict, but Dextus was driving her to it. "Now quit it."

"I'm sorry..." he leant to kiss her, but she pushed him away.

"Stop," she said, and walked past him. She was already wearing her nightgown, a thin and long, red thing that her mother had bought for her. Lorea laid down on the bed, which Cashmére had originally bought for her sister. Dextus pushed the other bed close to Lorea's, the bedsides touching.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, crawling closer to her. "You know I am. I only care-"

"It's not for you to decide," Lorea said, "It's for me and my mother decide."

"I know," Dextus mumbled, coming up beside Lorea, pulling her close. "I just don't want you to be hurt."

"What did the rebels ever do to you?" Lorea asked, turning around so that they laid face to face. He brushed her blonde her out of her face, smiling slightly. "Something must have happened."

"Let's not talk about that now," Dextus answered. "I don't want to think about it, I'll be too mad."

"Hmm," she snuggled into his neck. "Fine. Whatever."

* * *

"Your Highness," Davilius stood up hastily, almost pushing his seat over and then stumbled on his cloak. Odale stifled a giggle, but she too stood up. Davilius gave a deep bow, and not sure whether she should curtsy or bow, she too bowed, but heard Davilius let out a slight groan of dislike. She didn't understand what she'd done wrong.

The Emperor looked at her. "Stand up straight," he said. Odale straightened her back, tried to smile a little. He, however, smiled back to her surprise.

Emperor Augustus was old, in his eighties. He wore red robes, embroidered with gold and animals in different colours and shapes. Though he didn't have a crown on his head, which Odale had expected. Instead, he was turning bald slowly. "So," Emperor Tantibus stepped further into the room, and Davilius came to his aid, since the Emperor had a hard time walking. "You are Cashmére's daughter?"

"Yes, sir," Odale answered, "I am."

"You do look the part," the Emperor sat down on a chair, and Davilius stood beside him. "Come closer."

Odale obliged, standing in front of him. He eyed her up and down, grasped her hand gingerly. "I know you are," he said, "I got your mother's letter. Don't worry, I don't doubt anything."

She took a deep breath out of relief. "Was she looking for me?" Odale asked. She'd almost believed that no one had cared, at all.

"I received it only a day ago," Tantibus told her, "I don't know for certain. For how long have you been gone?"

Odale wasn't sure, so she shrugged. "Two weeks, maybe," she said, "I didn't really keep track."

"Of course not," the old man smiled. "Of course not. Now, let's find another room for you, dear. This one won't do."

* * *

In the middle of the night, Cashmére found Rodrian in her kitchen. He was leaning onto the table, clutching a cup of water in his hand. For a short few seconds, this startled her. Then, she remembered why he was there. In all honesty, she didn't care much for him. If the rebels wanted him, they could have him. He didn't matter to her. But when she'd seen the child, the infant, she had known that she had to do something. So, she'd offered her bedroom to Rodrian and Runa. Cashmére herself, and Little, slept on her couch. Or 'slept'. She hadn't had a good night's sleep for almost twenty years, ever since Lorea had been kidnapped. "Are you still up?" she asked him, and Rodrian jumped, spilling some of his water on his shirt.

"Hm," he mumbled, putting his cup down. "Did I wake you?"

She chuckled. "No," she said, looked at him. He was very alike his brother, she thought, much more alike than what Marcia was. Perhaps, Cashmére thought, Joseph would have looked like that. In case he'd been allowed to get that old. "How's the child?"

"She's fine," Rodrian replied. "Sleeping. At last."

Cashmére smiled a little, remembering how Lorea had been when she was little. "Don't expect her to do that when you want her to," she said, still smiling. "And do go back to bed. The three of you are safe here."

"I don't want to believe that," Rodrian murmured, to himself.

"What?" Cashmére asked, and Rodrian tried to smile a little.

"Nothing," he said. "I suspect that a child crying isn't something that you are especially used to."

His intent hadn't been to hurt her, at some level Cashmére realized this, but she still narrowed her eyes. "And who's fault is that?" she snarled, "When I had her, I didn't let her leave my side, not for a moment... but then you-"

"I'm sorry, Cashmére, that wasn't my int-"

"Intent and intent!" she snapped, "Ah, I shouldn't have come talking to you at all!"

She turned her back at him, ready to march off, but he grabbed her wrist. "Cashmére-"

"Let go, you _vandal_," she said, pushing him away from her. "You... you rebels, you're all kidnappers and-"

Cashmére cut herself off, realizing that she'd almost shouted. She didn't want to wake anyone up, so she just pulled away from him in silence and went back to the couch, where Little was snoring lightly.

* * *

Zamir woke up to late. Someone was knocking on his door. He dragged himself up from the bed, and dressed himself in the same clothes that he'd worn the day before. "Yes?" he said, once he finally opened the door. It was his tutor. She didn't look very happy with him, he thought, and he looked down.

"You've overselpt," she said. Not angrily, but sternly.

"I'm sorry," Zamir said. Lexica rolled her eyes at him.

"What's the matter with you?" she asked. "You've been this way for a couple of weeks now, Zamir. You cannot continue this way if you want to be anything."

He knew this. However, he'd spent his last few weeks worrying about Odale at night, trying to communicate with her. Lexica had to know something about this, he thought, but not all. "I'm very sorry," he repeated.

"No, but you don't understand," Lexica said, tapping her feet on the ground. "You don't understand why I'm angry."

"I overslept," Zamir replied. Lexica gave him a push, into his rooms.

"That's not it," she said, "Have a seat."

Zamir did as his tutor said. She was a short woman, but when he was sitting down she could look down on him. Her short, curly hair was in a mess. "I'm angry at you because I know that you can do better," she said. "You know this. So why are you throwing this away?"

"I've had a hard time sleeping," he mumbled.

"Then you should have told me so, and we could fix it," Lexica said, upset. "Look, I'll let it pass this time. But do better, Zamir, _I beg you_."

She patted him on the shoulder. "Now off you go," she said, "For whatever reason, madam Marcia wanted to speak with you. _Again_. Next time you can tell her to keep you for herself, instead."

Like an angry, short flash, she was off again and Zamir groaned to himself. What did Marcia want now?

* * *

"This was your mother's bedroom," the Emperor informed her, "Well, before she married your father."

It was a large, round room, with marble floors. On the marble floors large carpets were strewn, and on the other of the room there was a large bed.

Davilius helped the Emperor sit down in an armchair around a small, round table and the Emperor signed for Odale to sit down in front of him. The Emperor said something to Davilius in latin, and Odale saw the boy open his mouth to protest, but with a gesture the Emperor silenced him. Davilius simply bowed his head, and headed for the door. "How is your mother?" the Emperor finally asked, after a few moments of silence.

"She was fine when I left," Odale answered.

"Of course she must be worried for you," Tantibus said. This stung a little. Odale realized that she had spent a lot of time thinking about how she herself felt, but not a lot about her mother. Her mother, who'd already lost one daughter. She nodded. "But let's not talk about her, for now," the Emperor said, "Instead, let's talk about you. How old are you, again?"

"I'm fourteen," Odale said, trying to sit up a little bit straighter.

"For how long did you say you had been apprenticed to madam Marcia?" Tantibus asked, now frowning a little.

"Since I was ten," Odale answered.

"This is strange," Tantibus said, "I've sent your aunt many letters asking if you were indeed my granddaughter, and still I've had no reply."

"I never knew anyone asked for me," Odale replied, "I'm so sorry-"

"Of course you had nothing to do with that, I know," Tantibus said, "Still, I wonder-"

He stopped himself. "It's very late," he told her, instead, "Perhaps, you should go to bed."


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29: Time For Family

* * *

Odale sat up, her back straight, and looked around, then remembering where she was. She leant back into the pillows and blankets, pulling the blankets tightly around her. There was now almost nothing to worry about. Except for, of course, Alistair. She couldn't leave him in a cell, when he'd helped her.

The room was dim, she couldn't tell what time of the day it was. Thick curtains covered the long windows, and the fire at the end of the room had nearly burnt out, only a few embers were still burning there. Though there was no reason to get up just yet, she thought, shutting her eyes again. She'd had a good dream, she was sure of it, but she didn't remember it exactley. For a little while she tried to remember it, but couldn't. It just faded.

She rose from the bed, pulling a blanket over her shoulders, looking around. Thinking about where her mother lived, this room was a stark contrast. The room was almost as big as the entirety of her mother's current flat, though it was about just as red. There was a large portrait of her mother hanging on the wall. She was way younger than how Odale had ever, but there was no doubt it was her. Odale pulled her fingers over the gold lettering underneath the painting, that read _Cashmére Tanner_.

A tear rolled down her cheek, but she hurriedly stroke it away. It was ridiculous, she'd see her mother very soon. "Miss?" a young girl came into the room, perhaps a year or two younger than Odale. She carried a tray in her hands, put it at the table. "How are you today?"

Odale smiled a little. "I'm good, thank you," she said.

"This is breakfast," the girl replied, smiling back at her, with a wide, very white smile. "There's fruit and porridge and then..."

"Am I supposed to eat all of this?" Odale asked.

"Of course not," the girl said, "I just didn't know what you'd like and I'm so sorry if it's too much, miss..."

"No, no, it's good, thank you," Odale replied. "What time is it?"

"Around ten o'clock," the girl said, pulling the chair out for Odale as she sat down. "The Emperor told me not to wake you. And to keep you company, if you'd like."

"Sure," Odale said, "What's your name?"

The girl looked a little bit confused for a second, then smiled a little. "Disa," she said. "May I sit down?"

"Please do!" Odale replied, eager for some company that was not a sulking boy, or a much older man. "Do you want some breakfast? Some of mine, I mean? I won't be able to eat all of it."

Disa smiled a little, took a piece of bread that Odale handed her. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you, miss."

* * *

Zamir had an ominous feeling that meeting Marcia was going to be different that day. The door to Marcia's rooms opened for him on their own, surprisingly, he thought, and when he came into the hall he saw Indigo resting her head on a couple of brown boots. Odale's, Zamir realized, with a feeling of longing in his chest. At that moment, he wanted to see her again. More than anything, he thought, as he knelt down beside Indigo, patting the snake gently on her head. "Madam Marcia?" he called, "Hello?"

"Zamir?" Marcia came down the stairs, "Are you here already?"

He nodded his head. Marcia clasped her hands together. "Come, sit in my study," Marcia said, thinking of Jillie Jinn, the annoying ghost of the ex-Chief Hermetic Scribe. "There's something that I want you to do."

"Oh?" Zamir walked with Marcia, past the seemingly sleeping ghost. "What would that be?"

Marcia sat down behind her desk, gestured for him to take a seat as well. "You can Talk to my niece directly, isn't that right?" she finally said. Zamir nodded. They had already talked about this. "But the connection is a little bit... off when the two of you are far away. Correct?"

Zamir nodded, wondering what Marcia was getting at. "Why do you ask?" Zamir wondered, twisting his hands a little.

"Could you talk to her now?" Marcia pulled a small, yellowed note from one of her many pockets. "Do you think that would be possible?"

He pressed his lips together. "I'm not sure," he said, "It's hard. Very hard."

"But is it _possible?_" Marcia asked. Zamir nodded.

"It's not certain, though," Zamir told her, "I'm not sure if I can get to her, it doesn't always work, and she can't always answer."

"It's worth a shot, isn't it?" Marcia said, "I want to see if I could help her from here, maybe... maybe I could know something useful."

"When do you want me to..?" Zamir asked.

"In the afternoon," Marcia said, "Around four? I'll write your mentor a note."

* * *

"Do you want me to help you get dressed?" Disa asked once they'd finished Odale's breakfast. Odale stifled a laugh. The thought of someone helping her doing something that simple seemed ridiculous to her. However, she realized that it was a different culture. She swallowed her laughter, and shook her head.

"No thank you," she replied. "I can manage that on my own."

"Of course," the girl said, although Odale thought that she looked a little bit insecure. "I've put the clothes that the Emperor wanted you to wear in the dressing room."

"Thank you very much," Odale said, standing up. She looked down on the tray and, feeling a little bit guilty, she said: "Will you clean this up?"

Disa nodded, smiling. "With pleasure," she said, taking the tray. Odale turned and walked into the dressing room. It was evident which clothes Disa had meant for her to wear, they were spread out on a wide, but short-legged stool. Odale realized that she had made a mistake. She had no idea what it even was meant to be. There was a pair of trousers, she could see that, and then there was something that looked a little like a tunic in gold, which was supposed to be tied together. The two coats, both red.

Hesitantly, she pulled on the trousers and the tunic, tying it together at the front, and pulled both coats over herself. They were large and thin as silc, with wide sleeves. Odale felt a little malplaced in them, but at the same time she loved it. Once again the feeling that this was something that she once could have had washed over her, and Odale sat down for a few moments. There was a knock on the door. "May I come in?" Disa asked.

"Yes," Odale said, stood up and glanced at herself in the mirror. It didn't, Odale thought, seem to look right. Disa agreed. It wasn't right. She smiled a little, baring her teeth. "It doesn't seen really right, though."

"It doesn't," Disa agreed. "The tunic is supposed to be the other way around, tied in the back. And the coats are in the wrong order."

"Oh!" Odale said, "Sorry."

"It isn't easy," Disa replied comfortingly. She helped pull the coats off, and then helped Odale tie the tunic in the back. Disa tied it tight, and then helped Odale with the coats. Once she'd fixed with the coats, she fastened a heavy gold belt around Odale's waist. The belt held some of the fabric up, stopping it from dragging over the ground and made sure that Odale wouldn't trip over it.

"The Emperor would like to see you," Disa continued, using a headband to keep Odale's hair out of her face. "Would you like to see him?"

Odale nodded her head. Last night had felt surreal to her. It was hard to believe that the old man in heavy clothes was her grandfather. She'd barely every heard of him before, her mother never spoke about him and nor did Marcia. Marcia at least had an excuse.

* * *

Runa woke up with her daughter still her her arms. She sat up, remembering where she was, and looked around to see Rodrian. He wasn't there. Runa had a vague suspiscion that Rodrian hadn't gone to bed last night. Even though she'd urged him to do so. Runa stood up, clutching Ylva to her chest. Ylva's eyes were dull grey, and Runa knew that she'd grow up to be a wizard herself. This made Runa a little proud. Where she came from, Magyk wasn't all too common. Being a wizard there was something more special than in the Castle.

She walked out, into the living room, where Lorea wished her good morning. Runa smiled in return. They hadn't always gotten along, but Runa still liked the girl. "Do you want me to get you some breakfast?" Lorea asked. "We already had some, we didn't want to wake you up."

"That would be incredibly nice of you, Lorea," Runa answered. "Would you? I'm exhausted."

Lorea stood up and Cashmére made space for Runa to sit down. Cashmére smiled at the small infant. Wasn't she, in a way, her niece? It was her daughter's cousin, after all. "Can I hold her?" Cashmére asked. Runa nodded and, very carefully, handed Cashmére her daughter. The infant whimpered a little at being handed from person to person, but Cashmére hushed her gently. Cashmére was, Runa could tell, no stranger to holding infants. "Ylva, huh?" Cashmére said, smiling. "Pretty name."

Runa nodded, missing the warmth of her child in her arms. The look Cashmére gave her made her realize that Cashmére understood this, and shortly thereafter Cashmére handed her daughter back to her. "Joseph wouldn't let Lorea go," Cashmére murmured, and looked up. Runa realized that it wasn't for her, but for Rodrian, who stood over her shoulder.

"I can imagine," Rodrian replied. Out of all his siblings, Joseph was the one who had wanted children. Perhaps Maximilian had been interested, and Rodrian had barely been. Marcia had never wanted children. She had been too occupied with other things.

"I wish he hadn't," Cashmére said, and stood up. "I'm going to check on your breakfast, Runa."

Rodrian sat down beside Runa, once Cashmére had left. "So, how are you?" he asked her stoftly, "And how's Ylva?"

"Good," Runa said. "Thank you..."

* * *

Odale nervously stumbled down the marble stairs with Disa at her side. Her grandfather wanted to see her, but in his study. At that time he was having a meeting with his council, a council that Disa had called 'the Seven'.

Disa guided her to the room, and then sat her down. Not wanting to disturb the Emperor's meeting with his niece, she left through a backdoor. Odale waited patiently for him there, and finally he came through the door, not accompanied by anyone but his crutch. It was out of a bright, almost white wood, with an eagle's golden head on top of it. The eagle had small ruby eyes, which seemed to stare at her. "Odale," he smiled, having a seat, "Your clothes look much better today. Sit back down, please."

Odale smiled back to him, sat down in the small armchair again. "Thank you," she said, "Your-"

Tantibus raised his hand in protest. "Don't say that," he said, "Please. Couldn't you call me something... more natural?"

"Like... grandfather?" Odale asked. It didn't sound more natural to her, still she had had a hard time even calling her mother something as simple as 'mum'. "Grandpa?"

"Any of them," lord Tantibus smiled again. He did that a lot, she thought. "So, do you have any questions that you want to ask me?"

Odale shook her head. "No," she murmured. Lord Tantibus smiled at her, grasped her hands. Again.

"Good," he said. "There is going to be a part tonight. It's been planned for a long time, but since you're my granddaughter... Well, you're expected to be there."

She understood that. "Of course," she said.

"But first, someone should help you with how you should act," the Emperor said, "No offense, of course."

Help her how? Odale thought.

* * *

**(A/N so this is going to be one of my rant thingies, which I haven't had in a while, but I really want to say this, so in case you're not interested just skip thid :) Ok. So Thirsday the 22nd of October something truly horrible happened. In Sweden we had our first terroristattack in a school since the sixties. Two people, a teacher's assistant, a teacher, and a student, were killed and a several others were injured. The man who murdered them was shot by the police later. This makes me angry and sad, that this happened at all. The man who did this was a neonazi, showed clear support for the nazis and other rightwing extremist groups. He targeted the school because the school is known as an "immigrant" school. It's like the world hasn't even changed. I also want to mention Lavin Eksandar, the teacher's assistant, who sacrificed himself for his students. He was a hero, and I hope he isn't forgotten. That was all)**


	30. Chapter 30

**(A/N Happy Hannukah, everyone!)**

* * *

Chapter 30: Life Lessons

* * *

Honoria Porter stood by her window, watching large, very beautiful ships come into the port. She herself didn't know a lick about boats, but many of them were painted in extravagant colours that were meant to impress. One of the ships, a large one, with green-blue hull and clear-red sails was a regular visitor of the city, and although Honoria loved the ship she did not know who owned it. So taken in by the beautiful ship she did not hear two persons come into her room, stop, and look at her. She however felt someone look at her, and she turned around. On seeing the Emperor, she quickly bowed.

"Lady Honoria," the Emperor said, and Honoria almost blushed when he did. She had never realized that he knew her name. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so surprised, since she was very popular among the court youth. "Meet my granddaughter, Odale."

Her eyes fell onto the girl standing beside lord Tantibus. She was tall, taller than both Honoria and the Emperor, and had large, green eyes. The eyes glimmered in a way that Honoria enjoyed. Honoria bowed to the girl, as well. "Your Highness," Honoria said, to the Emperor. "Whatever brings you here?"

"My granddaughter," the Emperor held his hand on the girls shoulder, pressing it gently. Honoria could tell that he was looking for a good sentence. "She... isn't really aware of the proper manners she should be aware of. Could you help her a little? I would be most grateful."

She could never had said no, anyways, Honoria thought as she nodded. Not that she did mind especially, the girl seemed to be alright.

* * *

"What do you need?" Marcia asked. Zamir shrugged.

"Nothing, at the moment," he said. "Thanks."

She looked very worried, he noted as she ran her fingers through her hair. "Maybe you'd like some coffee?" Marcia asked, and Zamir nodded. Although he hated coffee. He guessed it calmed her if she got something to do. "Strong? With milk? Sugar?"

"With some milk, please," Zamir answered. He crossed his legs, and when Marcia left for the kitchen he shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Tried to picture her face in his mind, the way that he'd been taught. Her dark complexion with the freckled, curly hair, and the green eyes.

At once, he realized that it wouldn't work. Odale's mind was already locked. Either, she didn't want to talk to him, or she was too far away. "What are you doing here?" Septimus asked, making Zamir jump with surprise.

"Marcia asked me over," Zamir said, "She wants to... you know, talk to Odale. I'm the messenger, or whatever."

"Well, then," Septimus said. "Is it... you know... working?"

"She's not there," Zamir said, "Or not receptible."

"What does that mean?" Septimus asked.

"Either that she's too far away, or that she doesn't want to be talked to," Zamir answered. He drummed his fingers on his arm anxiously. Another thought had entered his mind, but he didn't want to even think about it.

Septimus looked a little confused. "Why, why wouldn't she want to talk?" he asked her. Zamir sighed, a little annoyed.

"You know her, you live with her," he said, "Sometimes, you know, she just... freaks. Could be nothing, I'm sure she's stressed out."

"Freaks?" Marcia came back. In her hands, she was holding two cups of coffee. "What do you mean?"

"I... I can't get to her," Zamir stuttered. "It doesn't work."

Marcia put the cups of coffee down on the table. "Try again," she said.

* * *

She sat across Honoria, in a comfortable armchair, who seemed to be very sweet. "Now," Honoria said, in the same accent that Odale's mother had, "I offer you a drink. What do you say?"

"I say no thank you, and then wait for you to prompt me to take some," Odale rambled. Honoria nodded.

"Well, I'd say that I've learnt you what you need for now," she said, smiling. "And wuite frankly, I'm exhausted. What about a break, and you can tell me all about that cute little town where you live?"

Odale wasn't sure that she'd describe the Castle as either of those things, but she rolled with it. "Well, uhm, first of it's warmer there," she said, and waited for Honoria to pick up her cup of the sweet drink that she'd fallen in love with. Stupid etiquette… "And it's surrounded by a Moat and farmlands, and then there's the badlands…"

Honoria laughed. "No, silly, I meant what are the people like? Where do they host the parties?"

"I'm not so much in touch," Odale was forced to admit. "The Palace, I guess…"

"And you have a princess, don't you?" Honoria asked. "Who walks around with the people, like anyone?"

Odale nodded her head. "How cute!" Honoria said. She tucked a leg underneath herself, leaning in a little. "And, the ExtraOrdinary Wizard… that's your aunt, isn't it?"

"Yes, Marcia's the ExtraOrdinary," Odale replied.

"Oh, she's always intrigued me so! Is it true that she has snakes for feet?" Honoria asked. Odale was almost tempted to say 'yes', just as a joke. But she didn't. Instead she laughed and shook her head.

"No, she doesn't," Odale answered. "Not unless she hides them, I guess, but then again I wouldn't understand why."

"Oh," Honoria said and her cheeks turned a little bit red. "Of course."

She stood up and fixed with her beautiful, yellow skirt. "I just need a moment," Honoria said, and left Odale alone in the room. Odale grabbed the cup of the hot beverage that had been placed in front of her, and sipped. It was sweet, and there was a little bit too much cinnamon it it.

_'Odale…'_ she heard, in her head, and grabbed the cup tightly.

_'Zamir?'_ she responded, _'Zamir, is that you?'_

_'How many boys have you given access to your head, Odale?'_ even when in her head, she could hear his sarcasm and rolled her eyes. _'Yes, it's me, you goose, how are you?'_

_'I'm well,'_ Odale felt a headache growing, the kind one would get from using too strong Magyk. _'What is it that you want?'_

_'…Don't you need help?_' Zamir seemed confused, _'Aren't you with the rebels?'_

_'What, no?'_ Odale, too, was confused, _'I'm not there anymore, and trust me, I can handle my own. Besides, what would you do?'_

_'Oh, I… didn't think,'_ Zamir was still a little confused.

_'Now, get out of my head!_' Odale snarked, and she felt his presence dissappear, as quickly as it had appeared. She took a deep breath.

* * *

"Did you get to her?" Marcia asked him as soon as he got back. He stroke the blood running from his nose away.

"Hm," he said, "Yes."

"How was she?" Marcia wondered, "Where was she?"

"I… don't know where she was," Zamir said, "Not with those rebels anymore, at least, that's what she said. Then she, um, said that she could handle herself."

Marcia snorted when she heard the last thing. "Then whyever is she there for?" she mumbled to herself. "Fine. What more did she say?"

"Not much more than that," Zamir said, "Then she kicked me out."

"Kicked you out?" Marcia stopped, "How did she?"

"It's her head," Zamir said, "She can do a little bit of whatever… anyhow, I should go."

Marcia nodded her head. "Thank you Zamir, for the help," she said. Zamir smiled and nodded, and then he left. He rushed quickly, and then downstairs he listened. Marcia and Septimus were still both upside, so he snuck into Odale's room.

It was clean, cleaner than when Odale would live there. Marcia had put some of the things where they were supposed to be, and then had had the room dusted off. To Zamir, it made the room look sad and, if a room could, lonely. Odale wasn't a clean person, the mess was a clear sign that Odale lived there. On the bed a familiar, black snake rested in the sunlight that shone through the window. "Hey," he murmured to the snake, gave her a pat on the head and then turned to Odale's bureau.

He knew what he'd find, just not where. Going after the feeling in his gut, he knelt down and opened the third drawer down. Feeling guilty, he looked through it. There seemed to be only normal cloaks, both thick and thin, and almost all of them were blue or green. Zamir was about to give up, when he felt a jolt hit his fingertips. He grabbed a cold piece of fabric, and pulled. It was Odale's old, Darke cloak. It's outer fabric was black and dark grey, with ominous symbols stitched onto it. He turned it inside-out, and revealed the beautiful, colourful fabric and then he took the cloak with him.

The cloak smelled like Odale, and a bit like Darke Magyk. It was almost a little bit addictive, he thought, as he left the cloak in his room. No wonder Odale had kept it for so long.

* * *

Honoria was back very soon. "Oh my goodness, you're bleeding!" she exclaimed, and Odale realized that her nose was flowing like a tap. Honoria handed her a handkerchief, which Odale used to clean the blood off.

"Thanks," she said, snapped her fingers to clean the handkerchief, and gave it back to Honoria. Honoria looked very amused.

"You can just use Magyk like that?" she asked. "Oh, that's amazing!"

"…Thank you," Odale pulled her hair back behind her ear.

"I have an idea," Honoria said, "The dinner starts in a few hours, we need to get dressed… and now I can get you some appropriate clothes."

"Oh?" Odale replied, and Honoria nodded.

"Come," she said, and grabbed Odale's arm, pulling Odale with her up the stairs. The bedroom was large, it's walls covered with deep yellow tapestries that depicted birds leaning over people doing everyday acts, or celebrating holidays. The bed wasn't backed up against a wall, but stood in the middle of the room, it's giant bedposts almost touching the almost-twelve-feet tall ceiling. Odale, who normally didn't care much for beauty, had lost her breath. Honoria had grown up in the room, and didn't notice Odale as she focused on the warderobe.

She soon came back with a dress. "I wore this not too long ago," Honoria commented as she spread it out on the bed for Odale to see, "Although if you change the colour, I don't think that anyone will notice it all that much. You can do that, right?"

Easily, Odale thought and nodded her head. "Which colour?" Honoria asked. Odale hesitated. There were probably rules for it, she thought, but she didn't know them. "You basically have two choices."

Which were? Odale's cheeks heated. She felt dumb and uneducated. "What do you think?" she asked, instead of asking for the choices. She already felt dumb, she didn't want to look dumb too. Honoria too seemed to hesitate, and she examined Odale's face. "I'd say red," she said, "Of course blue is pretty too, but red would be the best, I think."

Red or blue were her choices. Odale would much rather wear green, she missed her apprentice robes a lot, but there was probably not much to do about it. "Red it is, then," she said, waving her fingers over the dress. The red spread at first like a blood stain over the yellow dress, but then finally it turned fully crimson.

Honoria's eyes shone like small suns when she saw the changed dress. "Try it on, try it on!" she insisted, and gestured to a light pink silcscreen at the end of the room.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31: Flight

* * *

Odale thought that she looked a little bit silly in the long, crimson red dress and with a pair of just as red shoes, with little gold flowers on them. Honoria had insisted on her having black lines of kohl around her eyes, and just out of habit Odale had refused… for a little while. Although when she'd seen herself in the mirror she'd liked it. She'd also liked how Honoria had made her lips a little darker.

Honoria was dancing, and had left Odale alone in a corner of the big hall where the dance was held. Her grandfather had left her too, he was still in the dining hall, but all the youth had left the dining hall already. Maybe she should have , at least no one stared at her. "Good evening," she turned around. It was that boy, Davilius. He wasn't dressed in uniform anymore, instead he wore some kind of dark green, long tunic with embroidered details. "How are you?"

Odale smiled, or at least tried to smile at him. "I'm very good," she said, "Thank you. And how are you?"

"You can drop that act," Davilius replied, "No offense, my lady, but I know you're not like that. You may be the Emperor's granddaughter, but we find you with that rebel and I know that there's something wrong with that."

Her cheeks heated up and she narrowed her eyes at him. How dared he do that? How dared he accuse her like that? "So?" she snapped, "I didn't do anything bad, all I did I did to survive."

"You don't get any of the things that are involved in this," Davilius said, "But that's not what I came over to ask you."

"What did you come over to ask, then?" she asked. Davilius reached his hand out for her.

"Would you like to dance with me?"

"I can't dance," she said.

"Just move your feet like I do," he said. She, very hesitantly, took his hand. It was noticeably warm, and dry. He placed his large, warm hand on her back. "When I move forward, you move back."

He moved her out on the floor, and started moving her. Even though she knew no one watched, it felt as if everyone looked at her. She felt exposed, her back felt exposed and it felt as if her clothes had peeled off of her, like the skin of a snake. To her relief it was easy to follow, although she didn't know if it depended on the dance itself or if it was because Davilius was just a natural. "Is that how you ask all the girls to dance?" she asked him, "By offending them?"

Davilius smiled, showing a set of small, straight teeth. "I didn't mean to offend you, my lady," he told her, "I just meant that it's very strange to find _you_, of all girls, along with a… a… ah, well, you know who you were with, don't you?"

"I-"

"Of course, one could argue that it doesn't matter now," he cut her off, "Not now that he'll be sent to _la Cavus._"

_La Cavus_… the cave. Or the pit, perhaps, Odale wasn't certain. She hoped that she didn't look very worried of Alistair, but Davilius was still smiling. Apparently, it was his sense of justice, although Odale wasn't so sure.

The music stopped there, probably just for a short break. Davilius let her go, and she watched him disappear into the crowd. Her heart beat hard, very hard, and it made her angry. She shouldn't care for him, at all, she didn't care if he was sent to… whatever _la Cavus_ was. It didn't matter to her, soon she was going home, and then she could just drop everything that had with the rebels to do. She looked around. Behind her, there was a restroom that seemed empty. Odale hurried into it, she needed to calm down for a minute.

She splashed some water from a bowl on her face. It smelled sweet and flowery, and she used a piece of cloth to dry it off her. "Count to ten," she mumbled to herself, "Count to ten…"

Odale looked at the mirror. She could probably do something, she just had to figure out _what_.

* * *

"Rodrian…" Lorea woke him up, she was shaking him lightly, "Rodrian, get up. Marcia's here."

He pulled a hand through his hair, sat up. "Really?" he mumbled, "Tell her that I have to get dressed first, please."

She nodded her head and disappeared into the living room. Rodrian could hear her talking to Marcia in the Hall, and he, not for the first time, noted that Marcia's voice was very alike their mothers. Although she did not have the Snowplainian accent.

Rodrian quickly dressed himself, and then looked in the mirror. He hadn't managed to get new clothes for himself, so he wore his old rebels clothes… they were fairly obvious Eastern Snowplains, white and grey, colours which most Snowplainians never would wear, unless it was a funeral. He didn't mind them very much, although he saw how Cashmére and Lorea looked at him. They thought he looked like a monster.

Back home, he'd kept his uniforms hidden in a space underneath a plank under his bed, so that she wouldn't see. Although he'd almost only brought the uniforms, so that was what he had to wear.

Rodrian walked into the hall. "Odale's not with the rebels anymore," Marcia said as soon as she saw him, "I don't know how she did it, but she got away."

"Is it true?" Rodrian found himself smiling, "That's wonderful! Where is she?"

Marcia pursed her lips. "She wouldn't tell," Marcia said, "But she's not there anymore, and that's what matters."

"That is wonderful," Rodrian said, "Have you told Cashmére yet?"

"Told me what?" Cashmére appeared behind them. She looked at Marcia, tried to catch her eye, but Marcia looked away. "Marcia? What haven't you told me?"

"It's about Odale-"

"Is she hurt?" Cashmére grabbed Marcia by the arm. "How is she?"

"She's not with the rebels anymore," Marcia repeated what she'd said to Rodrian, although in a different tone, Rodrian noted, "I dare say that she's safe, for the moment. Although I don't know where she is, or how she got away for that matter."

Cashmére murmured something in latin, then she embraced Marcia. "Oh, thank goodness," she said, "I didn't think… oh, well, would you like to stay for a little while, Marcia?"

Marcia nodded her head, although Rodrian thought that she looked a little bit hesistant. He smiled at her. "I have someone to introduce you to, Marcia," he said, "If you'd like, of course."

"Oh?" her eyebrows went up. "Who?"

Rodrian found himself smiling. "Your niece," he said, "Runa! Please come over."

Marcia didn't register a baby at first, despite knowing there'd be one. She just saw a grey bundle that Runa, and then Rodrian, was holding. "She's called Ylva," Runa said quietly, fixing the blankets so that they covered the baby's head properly. "It's my great aunts name, I've always thought it sounds so pretty…"

"Do you want to hold her?" Rodrian asked. Marcia nodded her head, and he gingerly handed her the bundle. The child was so soft. It had been such a long time since Marcia had held an infant, almost fifteen years ago, if she remembered everything correctly. At first she struggled to hold it the right way, but she soon figured out how to.

"Will you have a… naming ceremony?" she asked, looking from Rodrian to Runa. She was unsure if they would follow rebel traditions, or traditional Snowplaininan ones, or maybe even the traditions of Runa's family.

Marcia had never been to a naming ceremony. She'd been too young to remember her own, and she'd missed Lorea's because of her apprenticeship. Odale had never had one, and Marcia hadn't thought much about it until she saw Rodrian's daughter.

Rodrian looked as confused as she did, and glanced at Runa. "I'm not sure yet," he said, and swept his hair back. "What do you think?"

"I'm not your wife, am I?" Marcia snapped, caught off guard, "Ask her instead."

* * *

Xeder didn't think much of the Emperor's granddaughter, except for that she looked a little bit odd. Not her natural looks, even though her teeth were a bit large and misplaced, but the way she moved and acted. It wasn't very traditional, he thought, even though at first glance it would seem that she'd be just that. He, however, took pity in her, as she was standing alone, and approached her. Odale smiled at him when he got close, and tucked a curl that had strayed from her pinned up hair behind her ear as he came up to her. "Hello," he said, suddenly very aware of his thick accent, "How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks," Odale replied. "And how are you?"

"Well," he said. "I heard the music start, and realized that if I didn't latch onto someone quickly I might get asked up. Would you mind being my saviour, lady Odale?"

He'd made the girl smile, again, and despite the before-mentioned teeth, it wasn't at all unpleasant. "I wouldn't mind at all," she said, and Xeder offered his arm, which Odale hesitantly took.

"The desserts are over there," he told her, and nodded over to the corner of the room. "I really want a bite."

"I think I'd like a bite, too," she said, and he showed her over to the desserts table. It was, you could say, deserted, with almost all the youth in the middle of the ballroom. "I've never seen this many sweets in the same place," Odale said, overexaggerating a little bit. However, she took a plate and served herself generously. He smiled, and then, in a joking matter, added:

"But mind your teeth, young lady," he said, and she took a defiant bite out of the spiderweb candy. "That is pure sugar."

"You speak like my aunt," Odale replied, taking another bite. "Is there anywhere we could sit down?"

"Over there," he was amused by the girl, and a little bit curious. They sat down on the nearest sofa. "You live where again?"

"The Castle," Odale said, chewing on something out of chocolate, "With my aunt. You?"

"Here," he said, with a slight smile. "In the barracks. I suppose that you haven't been there. I mean, Davilius might tomorrow, but-"

"Barracks?" for a few moments she looked a bit surprised, "Oh, right! You're military, aren't you?"

"Guard's commander," he corrected her, with a small smile, "That's important, too."

"Of course," she said. "What do you do?"

Xeder leaned back, smirked, wanting to impress the girl a little. "Actually," he said, "I'm supposed to guard _la Cavus _tonight."

"_La Cavus,_" she said, "Isn't that where that rebel is?"

"Who?" he asked, confused. "You mean Hassar?"

She nodded her head. "Alistair Hassar," she replied, and pressed her lips together. "He… scares me a little."

* * *

Her heart was fluttering in her chest. She could save him, she could save him! Why she should save him… well, she wasn't entirely sure. He'd helped her, she told herself. Odale couldn't just… leave him to rot. "Do you want to dance?" Xeder asked. He brushed his hand over her arm, and Odale hesitated. Her eyes fled to the corner of the room, where she could see her grandfather standing with Porter and a few others. Of course she was going home soon, but until then… she wanted to know him. What if this was the only time she'd see him? She hoped it wasn't, but what if… "I have to go down to la Cavus soon, it's my shift."

"I'm sorry," Odale said, "But I have to go to my grandfather now, if you understand…"

Xeder nodded his head. "I do," he replied, "Goodbye, lady Odale."

She looked away, and saw her grandfather, who smiled and nodded at her. To her, it seemed like a sign to approach, and she did. He put an arm around her shoulders when she stood beside him, his wide sleeves brushing the sides of her arms. Odale wondered how old he was. At first glance, she'd thought him to be the same age that Alther had been when he'd died, but later she realized that it would be impossible. He had to be older. "_Filia_," he said softly, "I don't believe that I have introduced you to all of my friends, yes?"

"No, you haven't," Odale said. "At least not all."

"This is Naomi Porter," the Emperor said, and nodded towards a woman with gray hair, who was sitting in a wheelchair. "And the gentleman over there, is Pau Chastelle."

She smiled and nodded towards the man, who had dyed, red hair and was pale as the snow that was glimmering outside. "We both knew your mother," the woman, Naomi said.

"Oh?" Odale felt the corners of her mouth twitch, "You did?"

"Watched her grow up, yes," Naomi said, "She was a beauty. Your father was a very lucky man."

Odale looked down to her sandal-clad feet. She'd seen the portraits of her mother, of course, and she understood what Naomi meant. "It's getting late, dear," her grandfather said. "Many are leaving. Are you too tired to continue?"

She wasn't, but nodded. This was her chance to find that la Cavus place. "Yes, please, sir," she said. "May I?"

"I'll walk you," her grandfather said, and he took her arm. It would take an eternity, she thought, looking at the beautiful crutch that he was holding in. Of course he couldn't help it, and Odale wondered if he'd been hurt, or if it was just a product of age. She wasn't sure that she'd dare to ask.

He walked her out of the big doors of the ball room, and then they ventured upstairs. Her room, her temporary one, was located in the top of one of the towers. "How is your mother?" the old Emperor asked her. "She must be very worried for you."

"Last time I saw her she was alright," Odale replied. "I mean, she's probably alright, since Lorea's with her."

He stopped. "Lorea?" he whispered, "Lorea, not… your sister?"

"Yes, her," Odale said, uncomfortably aware of that it wasn't the best way to tell him about her. "She's alive, my uncle kept her hidden away…"

"Maximilian?" the Emperor looked confused.

"No, Rodrian," she said. Her grandfather's face scrunged together as if she'd given him a lemon. "My other uncle…"

"Your mother let's her children mix with such people?" the Emperor asked sharply. "Rebels? What's next?"

"She didn't know," Odale answered. "Mum thought that Lorea was dead, as well. She didn't have a say in it."

"And your aunt?"

"She didn't know, either," Odale said. Her grandfather harrumphed, grabbed her arm and they walked upstairs to her room. He left her there, but she didn't intend on staying there.

* * *

It was in the middle of the night when Xeder heard someone tip-toe down the stairs. He stopped, placing a hand on his weapon. "Who's there?" he asked. The Emperor's granddaughter emerged, in a long, blue robe and he relaxed his hands.

"Me," the girl said.

"You shouldn't be here," Xeder said, but smiled at her. "It could be dangerous."

"I know," she smiled, came closer. He saw that she was holding her hands behind her back, but didn't think much of it. Perhaps he should have. "But you're so strong, aren't you? I bet that you'd be able to fight anyone off."

He snickered. "Don't flatter me," he said, but felt his cheeks warm up a little. "Please."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"What?" he asked. "For what, Heiress?"

She took her hands, holding them infront of her, and before he was able to react she'd blown a fine, white powder onto his face. He coughed, but breathed it in. "What the hell was that!?" he exclaimed, but felt his conscience slip. She caught him when he fell, and he saw her face as he faded into a deep, deep sleep. When he woke up, he wouldn't remember anything.

* * *

Odale felt bad for knocking the poor boy out, but she still took his keys and rushed down the stairs, into the maze of prison cells. People sneered at her, calling her ugly name. She'd heard worse, she thought, as she ventured into another corridor. How would she find him? Odale cursed herself. She'd probably get lost… "_Princessa_," the voice was so familiar. She stopped.

"There you are," she said, turning to the door to his cell. She tried a svereal keys before the door opened, and she entered. "I was looking for you."

Alistair was sitting on his bed, which was barely big enough for him to fit in, but still filled half the room. "What are you doing here, girl?" he asked her. His voice was very cold. "It is quite dangerous down here, isn't it?"

"I'm getting you out," she said. "Come on, Alistair, let's go."

He stood up, and she took a deep breath. Odale had assumed that he'd complain, but he didn't. She smiled, turned to the door, and didn't have the time to react when he grabbed the hair on the back of her head. Alistair shoved his fist over her mouth, slamming her so hard into the wall that she lost her breath. "I _could _go with you," he said, yanking at her hair. "Sure, I could. _Or _I could choke the life out of you, kill you right now like a dog. What're you going to do?"

Alistair wouldn't. She saw it in his eyes, he didn't really mean it. "Alistair," she managed to get his fist out of her face, "Stop fooling around."

"I'm a rebel, you little bitch," he hissed, "What do you want me to do, let a potential Heiress go?"

"Would you really kill me?" Odale asked. He narrowed his eyes, nodded his head. She shook her head. "Even if you'd be killed for it?"

He slowly let her go. "Fine, then," he answered, and she could see that he'd never meant any of it. "Get me out."


	32. Chapter 32

**(A/N Very late, I know and I'm sorry)**

* * *

Chapter 32

* * *

"This is treason, really," he was smirking at her, his pale thin lips showing his teeth. "Don't you know that?"

Odale was quiet. "I owe you that," she said, "Now get out before we get in trouble."

"Question is who'd be in more trouble," he said. "You. Or I? Probaly you to be honest, since-"

"Shut up and leave!" she snarled. He chuckled, grabbing her braided hair with one hand. She grabbed his wrist, digging her nails into his flesh. "Let go!"

"Now you're talking like a real Heiress, aren't you?" he said. She took a deep breath, before sending out a strong jolt of energy from her hands. Alistair lost his grip on her, fell to the snow and lost his breath. "Ow!"

"Get your hands of me, rebel," she said, "And go. Perhaps they're right about you."

She turned around before she could see him say anything, but she could hear him shout. "See you around, Overstrand!" he shouted, laughing.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, which she stopped and stroke away, frustrated with herself. She shouldn't be crying, she barely knew the boy. They'd only been together for a month, only saved eachother's lives once or twice. Nothing to be crying for.

Odale hurried to her assigned bedroom, casting her old UnSeen as she stepped up from the dungeons. Hopefully, no one would notice that Alistair was missing for a few hours or so, giving him time to escape. She wanted him to. He was her friend. Somehow. Or had been, until he'd found out who she was. What a great friend. She clenched her jaw. Whatever.

Almost there… She saw the big door, made out of sturdy oaken wood. Odale was filled with a sudden feeling of warmth. It was home, she thought. Or could have been, once upon a time. She let her hand glide over the doorknob before she twisted it, sliding open the door. The room was, to her relief, just as she'd left it. Her clothes from the ball were tossed over a chair by the bed, and a note rested on her pillow describing how she'd taken a walk to the library downstairs because she couldn't sleep. It wasn't true, of course, and she tossed it on the fire before crawling back into bed.

Nothing more to worry about, she thought as she fell asleep.

* * *

"I can't wait until that dratted alchemy-thing is ready to go so that we can get all this over with," Marcia stated. Septimus nodded, though he knew that it meant. She would shut down the Chamber of Alchemie down, all the beauty of the Fyre would die. Of course he'd love to have the Two Faced Ring gone, once and for all, but he loathed the thought of the Fyre being gone forever.

There was a knock on the window and Septimus jumped. They were on the top-floor, a knock on the window wasn't exactly expected. A large, golden bird stared angrily at him, flapping it's giant wings. A piece of paper was tied to its foot. To Septimus' surprise, Marcia opened the window and the bird flew up on her desk. She, very quickly, tied the letter from the bird's - Septimus thought it was an eagle - wing. Frowning at first, she read the letter. "She's coming back soon," Marcias frown faded and was replaced with a smile, "Next week, or maybe in two weeks. It all depends of the weather, of course."

"You mean Odale? Is she okay?" Septimus asked. Marcia nodded her head.

"She is," she answered. "She's with her grandfather. Now, we can't be occupied with this. I'll just write him a brief response, and then we'll go."

Marcia grabbed a pen, quickly scribbling a few words down before tying the note to the eagles foot. "Now go, foul thing," she said, opening the window for it. It flew away, Marcia watched as it rapidly disappeared into the horizon. "I think that Beetle is waiting for us," Septimus said. Marcia had paused, for too long.

"Of course," she blinked and stood up. "Let's go."

Though Septimus understood why, it still bothered him that Marcia felt a little bit lost. It hadn't really begun with Odales disappearance, but with Rodrians' appearance. "Uh, Marcia?" he said, "What thing was it that you were getting again?"

"I'm extracting the Things' memory," she said, turning around. "How come?"

"See, I still got some of the assignments you handed me yesterday left," he lied, "I don't really see the point of me going with you, if..."

"Of course," Marcia said, raising her eyebrows. "Please do. I'll go and get the MindExtraction on my own."

* * *

Her grandfather woke her up. "You're alright," he enveloped her with his frail arms, "Thank goodness, I thought... Doesn't matter."

"What?" Odale murmured, sat up. The Emperor looked honestly relieved as he carefully, as if he was afraid that she wasn't really there, caressed her cheek. She closed her eyes. The way he looked at her made her tremble. He cared for her. His expression was so pure. "What's going on?"

"That rebel boy is gone," her grandfather said. "I thought... that he might... oh, you're safe right now anyhow, so nevermind."

Odale pulled the sleeves of her nightgown down. "How'd you think he got away?" she asked.

"Still under investigation," the Emperor replied. "Though I've made sure that you're safe. I've got four guards outside your bedroom, just in case."

She nodded her head, couldn't help but to feel guilty. Having committed high treason wasn't that big of an issue, Alistair was worth it, but having betrayed her grandfather was different. Very different. Her body revolted at the thought. Odale trembled, tears burning in her eyes. Braver than before, her grandfather stroke her cheek and her hair again. "They're not going to get to you," he promised her, his voice soft. "No one will touch you. I'll stay here, with you."

"There's no need," Odale said, wiping her eyes. "I'm fine."

"Okay then," her grandfather kissed her forehead before he rose. "I'll leave you for the night, then. If anything's wrong, anything at all, tell the guards. They'll help you, dear."

"Alright," she said, pulling her covers back up. "Goodnight, grandfather."

The Emperor smiled. "Goodnight, my dear," he said and waved as he left.

* * *

Zamir had been daydreaming before the knock on his door. He'd been daydreaming about her, Odale, but not really in the romantic sense. Maybe. He wasn't even sure anymore, he missed her. Her smile, her laugh, her distinct way of ranting, the dark freckles on her light brown face. Maybe it was romantic. He had nothing to compare it to. Whatever was the case, her face haunted him. Trying to force her out of his mind he opened the door. "Hey," Septimus stood outside. He looked a bit awkward, fiddling with his sleeve. "Do you have a sec?"

"Sure," Zamir shrugged, "Care to come inside?"

Septimus stepped into Zamir's smallish room. "I don't have a lot of time," he said, looking Zamir into his one showing eye. "What do you know about Odale's uncle?"

"Not much," Zamir arched his eyebrow in surprise, "How come you're asking _me?_"

"Odale's not exactly available," Septimus said drly. "Marcia's distraught. Constantly."

"And you don't think that has anything to do with the fact that Odale's... wherever?" Zamir asked ruefully.

"Look, can you help me or not?" Septimus asked, clearly getting annoyed. He could see how Odale and Zamir often fought. Both had a certain sarcastic tone when bothered.

Zamir shrugged again. "What is it that you want to know again?" he said. Septimus sighed.

"I... don't know yet," he replied. "Marcia just seems so upset at something. I don't know. I was thinking..."

"That you could solve it?" Zamir filled in, "Septimus... it's a nice gesture, I'm sure, but are you sure that Marcia would want you meddling in her private life?"

Septimus pressed his lips together, Zamir didn't think he'd thought the thing through. "Probably not," he finally said. "But you could... maybe Odale would know?"

He instantly shook his head. "No," he said, "No, it's night where she is... she's sleeping. And I don't want to do this mind thing with her anymore, not so far away. It's exhausting and, quite frankly, she might be hurt..."

"Oh," Septimus said, "Right. That's true. I'm sorry-"

"But I know where her uncle lives," Zamir continued, "He probably knows some things, don't you think?"

"Odale's uncle?"

"Yeah."

"I don't have the time right now," Septimus said, "Maybe later, maybe... tonight?"

Zamir shrugged. "Sure," he said. "Six?"

Septimus nodded his head. "See you then," he said. "And thanks."

* * *

Odale had woke up early that day. She'd gotten dressed and rushed down for breakfast, dismissing a couple of very tired guards. It was odd sitting in that great hall. People stared at her, as if she was some kind of oddity in a cabinet. Perhaps because her clothes didn't sit quite right, perhaps because the kohl she'd carefully drawn around her eyes looked a little bit uneven, or perhaps the fact that all of them thought that she'd been dead for fifteen years. An older woman, maybe around Marcia's age, moved up to her and tried to start a conversation, but Odale didn't really understand what she said, nor did the woman understand her. The woman quit trying and Odale, hastier than ever, finished her breakfast of fish and fruits. She left the hall as quickly as she'd entered, and knew precisely where to go.

The first day her grandfather had introduced her to the Palace's library. It was, he'd claimed, the second biggest collection of Magyal texts in the whole empire... the university's collection being the grandest. He'd promised her that there were plenty of texts in Castelian, her own language, and it actually excited her. Her grandfather had even promised her to get to bring a couple of texts with her, the library had plenty of duplicates. She couldn't wait to see Marcia's face when she brought those additions to the Pyramid atop of the Tower. Besides, her fingers itched for something to read, she hadn't read much in many weeks.

Guards stood outside of the entrance, their uniforms tidy and carnelian red. They, without much fuss, let her enter. The Library was grande, several stores (Odale counted four) high. A smallish woman, or man, Odale couldn't tell what, approached her. They had glasses, thick as the bottom of a bottle, dominating their pale white complexion and their hair was covered by a piece of green and red cloth. "Hello, heiress," they said, their voice dry as firewood. "Are you looking for anything particular?"

They spoke Castelian, they knew. Odale smiled. "Yes, please," she said. "Where is that Castelian section I've heard so much about?"

"Over here," the small librarian smiled, showing their large, yellowed teeth. "So nice to have a new visitor. Othael, was it?"

"Odale," Odale corrected her.

"Hah!" the librarian said, "I like Othael much better. That was your great grandmother's name, do you know that? She and I were such good friends, _such _good friends..."

The lirbarian had to be old. It was hard to tell how, though, as her face was covered with a thick layer of white powder. They wore old robes, that probably hadn't been in fashion even during the last century. "What's your name, though?" she asked the old character, who pressed their thin lips together.

"Please just call me Aunty," she said. "And here you go, dearie. Knock yourself out."

Odale thanked the older woman, and turned to the books. There were plenty, she didn't know where to start. "What do you want to read?" the voice was soft, but with a heavy Snowplainian accent. It was the boy, Davilius. He wasn't wearing his uniform anymore, but a green robe with a bronze belt. His eyes were as stunning as they'd been to her the first time she'd seen them. The green of his eyes were magnificent, like two slices of lime.

Odale shrugged. "Anything, really," she said. "I'd really like something on SkinChanging, though."

"I've always been interested in that, too," he pulled out a book for her, "Here you go. AdvancedTransformations."

Davilius was much kinder than he'd been before. It made it much easier for her to accept how goodlooking she found him. He was traditionally handsome, with a strong jawline and prominent cheekbones. His hair was put up in a tail, but it reached his broad shoulders and was jetblack. "And look, I was very rude when we first found you," he said, "I didn't believe you, I thought that it was impossible but... you don't seem like an imposter."

Odale lowered her gaze. "Thanks," she said. "I probably would have done the same."

She had turned up with a rebel. There were, she'd learnt this week, few things that the Snowplainians loathed more than those. And, by the way she thought to herself, there were not much that she wouldn't do to make sure that Marcia didn't hurt. She supposed, by the way they acted, that her grandfather was some sort of mentor to the boy. "You look a lot like your grandmother, you know," Davilius said.

"You knew her?" Odale asked, perplexed. As far as she'd understood it her grandmother had been dead since Cashmére, her mother, had been a small child. How..?

"No," Davilius smiled, but it looked a little forced, Odale thought. "But there are so, _so _many portraits? Haven't you seen any? Really?"

To be honest she hadn't looked for them. No one had showed them to her, either. There had been so much, too much else. Odale carefully shook her head. "Where..?"

"For starters," this second smile seemed genuine, "Here's one."

Only a step away, the portrait was large, probably real-life sized. A woman, with skin only a few shades darker than hears and golden hair sat on a chair. She was smiling, it appeared as if she was looking into her eyes. "Oh," she said. "Oh. Uhm. She's my grandma?"

"Not very grandmother-ish looking, no," Davilius said, "She passed... just a few months after."

"Oh," Odale said. "Aha. I get it. So. Did you want anything else?"

This time Davilius smirked. "I heard you were a fighter," he told her. "Care for a round?"

Odale grinned back. "You bet I would," she replied. "C'mon."

* * *

**(A/N So wow. I haven't updated this in a while. Next chapter is the last one in the ESP, I know you guys didn't particularily like that. But yeah... hope you enjoyed this (if anyone is really reading this still? Idk?)... Til next time, then! Have a good time!)**


	33. Chapter 33

**(A/N Uhhhh... yeah. So. I'm not dead. Well, on the inside, but not otherwise. Otherwise I'm fine. Well. Apparently, I've been writing this stuff for like 5 years which is... a long time. A loooooong time. Damn)**

* * *

Chapter 33: Farewell

* * *

They had been talking for far too long, Odale realized as she looked outside. But he was kind, kinder than what she'd originally thought him to be. They were sitting in the soldiers gym, he on top of some kind of cube and she leaning against a training dummy. Davilius was, apparently, a BattleMagyk enthusiast. For hours they'd discussed techniques, he'd introduced her to using staffs and she'd taught him some things. Tricks, like smoke and illusions. "You were an assassin?" he asked her, eyebrows raised.

She nodded her head. "When I was a kid, yeah," she said. "Really small."

For whatever reason she really didn't want to think about it right then. The palace was like story, or a play rather. Odale could be someone else there, play the lost, innocent little girl in the castle. She could pretend to have always been Odale the Heiress, never Laurine the assassin. "How?" he looked puzzled, "Why?"

"I was raised by a Darke Wizard," she told him, "He... That's what he taught me to be."

Davilius looked down. "And you?" Odale said, "When did you join the military?"

"Eleven," he replied. "On my birthday. I was so happy, I had been waiting for it all my life..."

"Had you?" Odale asked, remembering her first kill. She couldn't even tell if she had been happy about it, or just told herself to be happy about it. But, she thought, the military in the Snowplains probably didn't teach young children to kill at first. They probably did other things.

"My family has been in the army since forever," he smiled. "Generals, commanders, warriors, so on. My uncle advised your grandfather on the military. Strategies and such."

They were quiet. He'd told her his uncle was dead, and Odale wasn't sure how to respond. He, very clearly, must've looked up to him. She closed her eyes. "When are you going home?" he asked her, out of the blue. The question had been hanging in the air for a long time, though.

"In a few days," she said, "Three, I think. My... the Emperor told me he'd ordered a boat for me."

"And when are you coming back?" Davilius asked her. Odale bit her lip. She'd actually thought about staying for a longer, undecided period of time. Marcia wouldn't have been happy, though. Maybe, Odale thought, she could back when she graduated. Though maybe even three years would be too long. She thought about her grandfather. He was very frail-looking, maybe... Odale wasn't ready for that.

* * *

Zamir fidgeted with his robes, stood outside the ExtraOrdinary Wizard's flat, waiting for Septimus. He didn't know why he was so nervous. Something felt wrong. He didn't like the thought of prying in other people's business, let alone Marcia's. The door opened, Septimus sneaked outside. "Are you sure about this?" Zamir asked. Why had he said yes in the first place? The more he thought about it the less of a good idea it seemed. Septimus seemed to be having the same train of thought.

"About that-"

"Maybe we shouldn't," Zamir finished his sentence for him, Septimus nodded his head. "Yeah. I agree."

"Sorry for wasting your time," Septimus said, his gaze shifting to his shoes. "I... I didn't mean to."

Zamir shrugged. "It's not like it took time getting here," he smirked, "You do realize that I live just downstairs, right?"

"Can I come with you?" Septimus asked. "To your place, I mean."

Zamir shrugged. "Sure," he said. "If that's what you want..."

* * *

"Are you sure?" her grandfather's voice was shaky. Odale looked up at him. His face seemed unmoved, but his eyes were strangely watery. She didn't know what to say in order not to hurt him. Of course she wanted to go home, she'd sacrifice her right arm for a way there, and considered herself lucky for being able to go home again. "Do you really want to go back?"

"Yes," she said, seeing no other way to phrase it. "I do."

"As long as you're happy," the Emperor said. He smiled, but it didn't really reach his eyes. "Your mother must be dying to see you, I imagine she must've been very worried."

Odale nodded her head. "Yeah..."

Her mother had already lost a child to the rebels once. She could barely imagine what her mother had to be feeling just then. The Emperor's hand caressed her cheek, her hair. Odale pressed her lips together tightly, attempting to hide the fact that they were trembling slightly. She wanted to go home, every piece of her longed to be back, but something in the back of her head was telling her that this, this palace, this country _was _her home, too. Despite her being the Emperor's granddaughter, she was treated like any other girl here. No one knew what she'd done, or if they knew they were excellent at disguising it. Odale liked that. Odale _loved _that. She closed her eyes. "The boat arrived this evening," her grandfather told her. "Your things will be gathered. You can leave tomorrow."

Odale blinked. Already? She'd thought she had more time, she'd thought she'd have two more days at least. "Oh," she simply said.

Emperor Tantibus smiled at her. "We'll have a lovely evening banquet, a fare well feast of sorts and then..."

She smiled back at him. "Thank you, grandfather," she said.

"I love you," he said.

"I," she paused, "I love you too."

* * *

"You and Odale were friends when she was... his apprentice?" Septimus seemed surprised. Zamir didn't understand why. It, to him, seemed as if it had been obvious. He nodded his head, wondering if he should say something. Perhaps, he thought, he should be surprised. They were different, Odale and him, especially in temperament. She was hot-headed and stubborn, he was calm. She'd never seen remorseful about the things she'd done, even though Zamir had come to suspect that it was a coping mechanism. Or something like that.

"You zoned out," Septimus touched his shoulder and Zamir jumped.

"Sorry," he said, letting his hair loose. "But yeah, we were."

"What was she like?" he asked. _Horrible, _Zamir thought. A brat, a bully. 'Teacher's pet' he'd called her _once_, as a joke. But she grew as a person. Not only after Marcia had apprenticed her, but before. He didn't feel like explaining all this to Septimus, however.

Zamir shrugged. "She was raised by him," he said. "I think you can imagine what she was like."

"I can't," Septimus admitted. "She's... flawed, but I can't imagine her just kill people like that."

"I don't want to talk about that," Zamir said, perhaps too harshly. Septimus looked down, away from him.

"Sorry," he said. "I should've... known it was inappropriate."

"That's okay," Zamir replied, tried to sound more friendly. He failed. "Are you hungry?"

* * *

"You can see the Emperor now, my lady," the guard said. She smiled at Odale, and Odale in turn smiled and nodded, as a thanks. She entered the Emperor's quarters. Her grandfather was standing in front of her, in his hall, leaning on his cane. Odale grasped his arm, and they entered his study. His study was huge, bigger than Marcia's. Maybe too big, Odale thought. The large empty spaces made her slightly uncomfortable.

"I have something for you," her grandfather said. Odale shifted in her seat.

"Oh, really?" He'd given her a lot already. She had received clothes, jewelry and books, and had no idea where to keep all of it once she came back.

Her grandfather opened a drawer and picked something up. A box, about a foot long and it had a rich reddish-brown colour. "This belonged to your grandmother," he said, placing it in front of her. Odale drew it closer. A giant, golden eagle spread it's wings across the lid. "Open it. It's yours."

Odale expected it to be jewelry or something of the sort. She, gently, opened the box. On a pillow rested an ivory grip. A staff. She picked it up. It had a string of leather and Odale knew exactly where on her belt she could keep it. Where she _would _keep it. "Thank you," she said. Hesitated. "Are you sure?"

Her grandfather nodded his head. "She would want you to have it," he said.

"Thank you," she said, "Thank you so much."

"Now let's attend the banquet," her grandfather said. "Have you ever tried octopus?"

Odale smiled.


End file.
